


The Lords that Fell

by Taylor17387



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Bad guys' point of view, Dealing with the loss of jewels/rings and masters, Drama, First Age, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Occasional slash, Second Age, Third Age, angbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 141,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1232164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taylor17387/pseuds/Taylor17387
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tells the story of the rise and fall of the two dark lords, from the collapse of the fortress in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, to the collapse of Barad-dûr, and what came next. Mainly told from Melkor and Sauron's perspective. Continuation of my other fic: "The Burnt God", though it may be read separately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The King in the Tower of Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a continuation of my other fic, "The Burnt God", and it 's better to read it after that. However, for those of you that haven't read it, I explain some references to the previous fic in notes at the end.  
> As for chronology of events (i.e. Melkor's battle with Fingolfin after the conquest of Minas Tirith), I'm following the one from the Grey Annals, instead of the one in the Silmarillion.
> 
> There's a Chinese translation of the first chapter, made by eggsofdaleks, here:  
> http://www.mtslash.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=120131&page=1&extra=#pid2238548

_In Wizard's Isle still lay forgot,  
enmeshed and tortured in that grot  
cold, evil, doorless, without light,  
and blank-eyed stared at endless night  
two comrades. Now alone they were.  
The others lived no more, but bare  
their broken bones would lie and tell  
how ten had served their master well_

-The Lay of Leithian: Canto IX.

In the fortress built on the island of the river Sirion, now called the Isle of Werewolves, the howling of the wolves had become still for a moment. Sauron knew what that meant: the beasts were feasting on another of the, at first, twelve prisoners who had been captured recently. That band of outlaws had been a little entertainment during the last few days, and certainly the subjects thst formed it were not at all conventional. Eleven Elves and a man with tormented visage, all disguised as Orcs. One didn't find such a thing in the forest on a daily basis.  
Sauron reached across the huge table covered with maps and plans, where he used to work every time he retreated into his turret, and took a list of names from among the papers. Upon crossing out the name of the latest victim, he realized that only two prisoners remained still: the man and the Elf who, he suspected, headed the mission. All the others had preferred to die rather than betraying their lord.

"Very noble for their part. And very coward for the part of their lord, who would see them turn into carrion for wolves, rather than telling the truth once and for all." -he thought, with a smirk of scorn.

Anyway, the underlings didn't matter. The next to die would be that disheveled human, with whom the Elven lord seemed to maintain a close relationship. And if, even upon seeing the death of his friend, protegé, lover or whatever he was, he still didn't budge an inch, then he would make him talk through more sophisticated and persuasive methods. Sauron took the plan of a new information-gathering machine on which he was working, but he quickly put it aside with a sigh.  
The truth was that he got bored. He had been bored for the past ten years that he had spent in that tower. Yes, of course it was nice to be the absolute master of the river Sirion, and have all the fortress at his disposal, and a good garrison of werewolves to terrorize the surrounding areas. But without Melkor by his side it was boring and dull.  
He had not seen his master since the battle that broke the siege of Angband, the battle that Elves called "of Sudden Flame". Of course, it had been finally the fire dragons who had put a remedy to the plight and had destroyed the camp of the Noldor. The original idea had been of Glaurung, however, so he couldn't boast about the success too much either.  
This was followed by the assault and capture of the fortress of Minas Tirith, that had been postponed for too many years already. The horrified face of Orodreth when Sauron stood in front of him and took again the maiden shape with which he had seduced him, was one of the fondest memories of the lieutenant.

"Do you want to kiss me now?" –he had asked mockingly, and the stupid Elf had become so stunned, that he barely managed to escape alive from the skirmish.

He hadn't been the lord of the isle for too long, when he received news about a duel in which Melkor himself had confronted Fingolfin. At first it seemed very strange to him that his master had agreed to such a thing, since the Vala wasn't fond of hand to hand combats, and no doubt he had only done it reluctantly and out of shame. The official emissaries informed him of a glorious and overwhelming victory of his master over the insolent king of the Noldor. But he had also heard rumours among the messenger crows, whispered rumours, that spoke of the serious wounds and injuries that the battle had left in the body of Melkor.  
Sauron had worried then, and had wanted to return to Angband, but the opportunity never arose. And the Vala didn't want to receive him in the fortress either. Every time he sent messages asking to see him, his lord gave him excuses and told him to take care of the fortress for the time being and that he would see him in the future. All this only served to increase his anxiety.  
Not even through his human servant, who had remained in Angband following Melkor's orders, and occasionally visited the tower, he could find out what had exactly happened. The man had seemed very nervous when adressing the subject, and Sauron suspected that he was afraid that, somehow, Melkor discovered that he had spoken too much.  
He wasn't sure if they were treating his Shadow properly during his absence. It was true that he was always reluctant to return to Angband, and remained in the tower more time than was strictly necessary. But if they had ever tormented him, his servant never told him.  
Apart from that, the years in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves, were years of tedium. There was little movement in the realms of the Noldor, and Sauron's main concern at that time was to locate two men named Húrin and Huor, who, according to spies, knew the entrance to a secret city of the Elves. But no matter how many troops deployed the lieutenant over every corner of Beleriand, and no matter how much he examined the maps in search of some unexplored place, the two elusive humans escaped him again and again.  
Perhaps the prisoners that he had in the dungeons right now knew about this hidden realm. And if he, at least, found out something, he would have an excuse to turn up in Angband and see Melkor once more.  
Melkor ... He had been ten years separated from Melkor. For some reason, since he had intimated with him, his absence seemed unbearable. It was as if suddenly, something that he had never before needed, the physical contact, had become essential to live.  
Sauron closed his eyes and recreated in his mind the last encounter of that kind that he had with his lord. Just after the Battle of Sudden Flame, Melkor had called him to the throne room to speak with him alone. The lieutenant still smelled of sulfur, and of scorched flesh, and of Elven blood, and the Vala's eyes had gleamed with unmistakable lust. Then Sauron, still aroused by the ardour of the battle and the taste of victory, had seized him with abrupt passion, had turned him to face the wall, had lifted his robe, and had taken him on the spot, with the same violence with which he had taken the enemy camp. And Melkor had screamed with pleasure, and the lieutenant had felt his desire: burning, desperate, sincere.  
How he loved him then! And how submissively had surrendered the Vala to him! With that complete and unapologetic submission, with which only surrender those who know they're infinitely superior.  
Still with his eyes closed, Sauron licked his fangs, indulging in those delicious images, and smiled at the memory of how, after the encounter, Melkor had chosen not to sit on the throne for a few days, and had got angered with anyone who dared to ask for the reason of this.  
Why couldn't he be in Angband with his lord now? He missed his skin, his flesh, his smell, his half-whispered words...  
And it was Melkor's fault, for turning him into a slave to base passions. He wasn't like that before, he didn't waste his time with such trivialities before. And now he wasn't just tormented by desire, but on top of that, he also had no way to satisfy it with anyone. In the tower there were only Orcs, werewolves or even worse creatures, and none of them seemed an acceptable partner to him.  
Once again, the lieutenant felt an annoying heat and a familiar strain between his legs at the thought of his master. But after all, he was alone in the turret and had nothing to do. Thus, with a resigned sigh, he unbuttoned his trousers and slid his hand under the fabric.  
Just in that moment the door to the turret opened wide, and the vampire Thuringwethil burst in stumbling. Sauron started and immediately removed his hand from where he had it.  
Thuringwethil was drunk with blood as usual, and approached him with uncertain steps, but not before pouring a few drops of the red fluid of her glass on the luxurious carpet, brought by Orodreth from Valinor.

There were few beings in Arda that irritated the lieutenant as much as Thuringwethil the vampire. When she wasn't fighting with quarrelsome Orcs or gossiping and spreading false rumours, she was stuffing herself with the blood of others until losing consciousness. And in this aspect she wasn't prejudiced when drinking: she didn't care whether she bit the neck of an Orc, a horse, a werewolf or an Elf. If he wasn't his superior, Sauron was sure that she would try to bite him as well.

"Cursed be the day that I happened to use her name!" –regreted the Maia.

And fixing his eye of fire on the creature, with obvious hatred, he wished he could make her go up in flames with his stare.

-Sir, Sauron, sir. I just saw something very curious. -proclaimed the vampire with her shrill voice, as she leaned on the maps and drawings with not much ceremony.

-If you had entered just a few minutes later, I assure you that you would have seen something even more curious. -muttered the lieutenant under his breath, without averting his murderous eyes from her.

-About that I know nothing, sir, but listen. I was flying over the North of the Brethil forest, when I saw a shadow running at high speed. It was getting dark, so I've descended a little to see who it was. And dost thou know who it was? Guess it, sir.

Sauron snorted in disgust. The last thing he was thinking about then was playing riddles.

-How should I know? Oromë riding under the moonlight as in the old days?

-No, sir, not that. -obviously, the vampire had not caught the sarcasm. – It was... Attention, sir: it was a maiden, a maiden riding a huge dog! And she was wrapped in a very strange cloak, very dark, blacker than night itself, as black as that spider that almost ate the master Melkor ... What was her name? Unog... Unga ...

-Stick to the subject, will you?! -Thuringwethil was startled, and dropped some blood on the lieutenant's papers.

-Yes, Sauron sir, yes. As I said, she was wrapped in a cloak of darkness. It seemed like a good catch to me, so I swooped to attack her. But one end of her cloak touched my eyes, and then I felt an overwhelming drowsiness and fell asleep instantly.

-That would be because you had drunk too much, as always.

-No, lord Sauron, no! I promise thee that...

-Silence! I cannot believe that you had bothered me just to tell me that stupidity. What do I care about maidens who go for a walk with their dogs? Come back when you see the host of the Valar blowing the trumpets of the last day! –growled the Maia, trying to clean the stained maps, without much success. Thereafter, the Blue Mountains would no longer be blue, but red.

-But my lord Sauron, shouldn't we send a patrol of scouts? The maiden seemed to ride towards here.

-Well, then if she appears in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, I'll lock her with the other prisoners and the wolves will have a more tender flesh to enjoy. That's it.

Thuringwethil frowned, and leaned a little more over the lieutenant.

-Why art thou so upset, sir? I don't think that bringing thee this information is so annoying. After all, what wert thou doing?

Sauron turned to her slowly, barely containing the urge to grab her by the neck and throw her out the window, so she made a late night flight.

-Look Thuringwethil, I'm going to be very direct and blunt, because I suspect that will be the quickest way for you to leave me alone: Before you entered in my turret like a whirlwind to tell me about your ridiculous maidens and dogs, I was trying to give me pleasure. I'm not sure if you understand...

The vampire made a gesture of indifference with one of her membranous wings.

-Yes, of course I understand. I spend much time surrounded by Orcs and see the things they do; I know what that means.

But even so, the intruder stood there, impassive, calmly sipping plasma from her glass. Sauron raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

-I think I was too subtle before. What I want is that you clear off! -he roared, and Thuringwethil almost dropped the whole drink out of fright.

-All right, sir, I'll leave if thou needst to concentrate so much to do something so simple. But I don't understand why thou preferst to touch thyself, when thou hast in the dungeons two prisoners at thy complete disposal.

-The prisoners? They are inferior beings! Maybe an eyesore like you is willing to stoop to that level, but I have dignity!

-Oh, lord Sauron! But the Elf is quite beautiful, isn't he? And didn't take the Valar and Maiar their appearances on the basis of the looks of the children of Eru? -Thuringwethil winked at him with malice, and put one of her nauseating wings around the lieutenant's shoulders, as if to speak with him in confidence.- I know that they can't be compared with the master Melkor, but after all, the master is not here and they are. That is a point in their favour, isn't it? And thou wilst not believe that Melkor had no other bed partners during these ten years that thou hast been away from him, right?

The idea fell over Sauron like a bucket of cold water. Until then that possibility hadn't crossed his mind, not even for a second, but now that it had, he felt a sensation of terrible discomfort and pain in his chest. In vain he tried to convince himself that jealousy was a ridiculous feeling, typical of women, and that Melkor was a Vala and had the right to be completely free in his decisions. Nonetheless, he felt jealous. Melkor had the power to make him feel jealous, him, Sauron, the lieutenant of Angband, the coldest and most rational of all the Ainur! ...  
How he hated him for it then!

-What my lord Melkor may do or not do with his body is not my concern. -replied the lieutenant with hurt pride.

The blackish teeth of the vampire were discovered in a wicked smile beside his face. Her breath reeked of coagulated blood and meat scraps.

-What thou dost with thy body isn't the concern of the lord Melkor either. I just tell thee for thy own sake, nothing more. Other than that, my lord ... Sometimes one can obtain more information in the bed than in the torture chamber. Think about it.

With that said, the vampire got up and left the turret swaying and humming an obscene song under her breath. The lieutenant was left staring blankly at the void, in front of the plans but without seeing the plans, torn between reason, desire and heartbreak.  
Night had fallen outside, and the wolves howled again.

At about midnight, the door of the dungeon opened, and a figure with cape and riding boots was cut in the doorway. The two prisoners slept huddled in a corner, shivering with cold and tightly embraced. It was a fraternal embrace, the embrace of the soldier and his comrade who know they will die the next morning an uncertain death, and thus extend their farewell during the whole night.  
Sauron told the Orcs that accompanied him to separate the Elf without waking the man, and to bring him to his presence. The creature was beautiful, with hair between blond and silvery, and eyes the colour of aquamarine . But he was gaunt, haggard, dirty and disheveled.  
The man, though also attractive, looked even worse.  
Sauron drove the Elf outside the cell and brought him into the refined bathroom that had belonged to Orodreth. He signaled the bathtub and ordered him to spruce, to wash himself thoroughly and to comb his hair. From a closet in the bedroom he brought a embroidered silk tunic that had also belonged to the former lord of the tower, and left it folded on a stool, so that after bathing, the Elf got dressed with it and dismissed the foul-smelling rags with which he was covered.  
After that Sauron left the bathroom to let him privacy, and put two sentinels at the door in case the prisoner still harboured hopes of escaping.

An hour later the Elf appeared in the main dining room, where the lieutenant was already waiting for him at the table. It was amazing how a simple bath and change of dress had transformed the prison rat into a dignified lord. Sauron recognized at once the nobility and demeanor of the Noldor in his figure. However, the Elf looked confused and frightened by the strange circumstances. The table was covered with viands served on porcelain plates, and the crystal goblets, adorned with gold and silver filigree, were full of sweet wine.

-Sit down. I've been waiting for you. -said the Maia with a smile of charming evil, and moved backwards the chair at the left of the head, where he sat.  
The Elf sat down reluctantly and looked at the freshly prepared food, the closest to a real meal that he had seen in a long time. In fact, it had a quite nice appearance and smell.

-Help yourself, you must be hungry. The Orcs can be good cooks if one hits them enough to convince them to be so. Usually I don't eat much, as you see. It's not something I'm used to. –continued Sauron, taking one of the wineglasses to his lips.

The Elf hesitated for a second, but soon realized that the lieutenant wasn't going to take so much trouble to poison him when he could kill him at any time more quickly. He then served himself with a piece of roast venison.

-Forgive me, sir, if I ask thee for the reason of all this courtesy towards me.

-Oh, my dear nameless Elf! All in good time. For now, let's say that I'm feeling generous tonight and have more desire of favours than of torments.

-Favours for me or favours for thee? –asked the Elf, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

The Maia extended his arm across the table and stroked the back of his guest's hand. The coldness of his touch, and the dim gleam of his right eye, caused him a shiver.

-Favours for both of us. You give me something and I give you something. Although I think that, in comparison, you will stand to gain. A night of respite before returning to your cell and to the darkness. You should feel fortunate.

The Elf had trouble swallowing the piece of meat in his mouth, and felt relieved when the hand of the lieutenant moved away from his.  
Sauron let him dine in peace, merely observing him in silence as he drank his wine and licked his lips from time to time. Under the light of the candles, the Elf's face seemed even paler and sadder, but behind that facade of delicate shyness still could be guessed the strength and determination that had once characterized him.  
The Elf ate less than what would have been expected, and barely tasted the wine.

-That tunic really suits you well. It almost seems as it was made for you. –said the lieutenant casually, while the guest finished his dinner. The Elf looked up with an expression of surprise and astonishment, and the Maia laughed:- But of course you are very beautiful, it's just natural that anything suits you well. You are a Noldo, no doubt. The Wood-elves could never have such a grace. However, the colour of your hair ... You have blood from the Vanyar, or perhaps from the Sindar, am I right?

-I do not want to discuss my origins now, please lord Sauron. -he muttered, looking down.

-It's true, where are my manners? This is not an interrogation, but a relaxed evening. Nonetheless, I suppose we could talk about subjects more intimate, or sentimental, don't you think? Tell me Elf, are you married?

-No, I'm not. I left my fiancée in Eldamar before coming to Middle Earth, and I could never marry her. -he confessed, his voice breaking.

-Such a pity. Then I guess you will have many lovers, right? Young maidens. Young boys, maybe?

The Elf blushed and shook his head, not daring to look at his interlocutor.

-No. I never had any lover.

-What a shame! -exclaimed the lieutenant with false compassion.- Am I to assume then that you have not shared a bed with anyone since the journey of the Noldor? How long ago was that, five hundred years? That's a long time even for an Eldar. It's quite sad that so far you have only known the favours of your fiancée.

For Sauron, that idea made the Elf seem even more desirable, and he licked his fang suggestively. But the embarrassed blush of the Elf turned into a blush of indignation upon hearing this.

-What favours art thou talking about? My fiancée was a decent lady, I'd never have dishonoured her that way! I told thee already that we weren't married.

Sauron smiled with effrontery.

-I don't know what has to do marriage with honour and pleasure. Frankly, the laws of the Eldar seem indecipherable for me. But it's a waste that nobody has touched you so far. A being so beautiful should not wither without having enjoyed himself at least once. However, you are very lucky, Elf: tonight you will finally know those pleasures, and you will do it through a Maia, of the holy race of the Ainur. Don't you feel flattered?

The Elf was paralyzed then, and his aquamarine eyes opened wide in disbelief and horror. An icy stream run down his spine, and he shrunk in his seat shivering.

-Thou and I? No, please ... I ... I ... I thank thee, sir, but I can't. It's not right, we shouldn't...

-Why not? Because I'm the lieutenant of Angband, at the service of the Dark Lord? You have accepted my food and kindness without hesitation, why would you not want to accept as well the pleasure I can give you? -Sauron caressed his neck and felt every muscle of the Elf tensing under his fingers.- Or is it because we are of different races, that's what scares you? Don't worry, there's nothing in the laws of Eru that prevents the Ainur from mating with the Firstborn. Remember Melian and Thingol.

-That's different. Melian and Thingol love and respect each other.

Sauron laughed.

-They love each other? Poor creature! I know Melian very well, I knew her from the beginning of time, in Valinor. She's a fickle and manipulative being, like all females. She bewitched the king of the Sindar with sorcery, she subdued him and pulled him away from his people and his family. And all because she took a fancy to his beauty, because she wanted to satisfy her lust with an inferior being that she could easily master, even if from the background. Does that seem as love to you? To me it seems more like an abduction. Ye are nothing but toys for the gods. But at least I'm honest about it, and I can treat my toys very well when I decide so...

The Elf tried to escape the touch of frost that slid across his neck's skin, but he was unsuccessful.

-What thou sayst is not true. And I would like that thou didst not slander king Thingol and his queen that way.

-Why not, perhaps you know them? Are they friends of yours? Maybe ... distant relatives?

The Elf did not answer that, and stayed inhibited and resigned under the caresses.

-You have barely drunk wine, and that's not right. Although I recognize that the wine for dinner wasn't too good. –continued Sauron, changing the subject. And rising from the table, he went to the walnut cabinet where they kept the bottles. He took two of them, along with two goblets encrusted with gems, which he placed on the table in front of his chair.- This wine is much stronger, and it will raise your spirits for later. –he said while he poured the contents of each bottle in each goblet.

One of the glasses showed the emblem of two snakes with emerald eyes, and in this he served the fragrant wine from the first bottle. The other glass was decorated with a lion of rubies, and this, to the horror of the Elf, he filled with the black blood that flowed from the second bottle.

-I want you to choose one of the glasses and drink it whole. Do me that favour, as the guest you are. If not, you will offend me. Well, what glass do you prefer?

The Elf signaled the glass of wine, frightened, but the lieutenant pretended not to understand and pushed towards him the glass filled with reeking blood.

-No, not that, please. The other.

-Which other?

-The one that contains the wine.

-Both contain wine, my dear friend.

-I mean the glass with the snakes.

-Ah! The glass with the snakes ... -the Maia brought him the correct goblet, and the candle flames danced in his eye of fire creating an unsettling effect. The Elf had no choice but to drink the whole glass before the watchful stare of his captor. – Do you know? I have the impression of having already dined at this same table with you. And if not with you, at least with someone who looked a lot like you. -the trembling of the Elf's hand as he drained the wine didn't escape the attention of Sauron. Then the lieutenant looked at his own glass and feigned disgust:- Humm! I think I made a mistake. This is not wine, but the filthy blood of Thuringwethil. Well, no more drinking for me. This happens for letting you choose, I'm too courteus. And by the way, how did you know that the glass had the emblem of a snake? I'm convinced that the figures have been looking towards me all the time. Tell me, have you been in this tower before?

The emerald glass resounded with a clang when the Elf dropped it on the cutlery. He had turned pale, and his lower lip trembled.

-I... I do not ...

-Yes, and there's another very curious thing too. Those emerald snakes closely resemble the emblem of the ring that your human companion wears. Maybe you gave it to him, isn't it, my dear friend?

The smile of the lieutenant, glimmering in the half light, caused him more terror because of its evil kindness. In that moment, the Elf tried to leave the table. But Sauron quickly moved his chair closer and held him in place, while he put his arms around his waist and began to kiss his neck lasciviously.

-What are you afraid of, huh? I'm not going to hurt you, so stop resisting my advances. Dying a virgin is nothing honourable, and trust me: you will die in this tower. You won't see your beloved lady again. Never. So why refuse to pleasure? I just ask you to keep me company tonight. The full moon makes my blood boil, and I feel very lonely, very aroused. Give me what I want and I'll do you anything you ask me, I, a Maia, will let you do with me as you please. I'm a fair and generous lover. -and as he whispered this in his ear, he moved his hand up the prisoner's thigh and began to stroke him between the legs.

The Elf struggled, seized by panic and humiliation, but his strength was useless against the Ainu.

-Please, lord Sauron. I never asked for this privilege. Let me go, bring me back to my cell, where I'll willingly face my destiny, even if it should be death. I'm not of any use for this.

-Yes, yes you are! -sighed the lieutenant, and grabbing the Elf's hand, he placed it on his own crotch and forced him to stroke him as well.

The strain he felt was getting too intense, and the animal instinct was starting to blur his reason already.  
Unable to endure it one more second, he took the Elf in his arms and brought him to the main bedroom of the tower. There he threw him on the bed and opened his tunic with a sudden tug. The golden hair of his pubis glinted under the light of the oil lamps, and the Maia lay down on him and began to cover him with kisses and slight bites, desperately furious.

-Ten years, Melkor, ten years. Why did you leave me alone? -he muttered, before turning all his attentions to the member of the Elf.

It was comforting: that feeling of giving pleasure to someone again, and see him squirm and hear him moan. It made him feel alive.  
However, he soon realized that the Elf rather squirmed in agony than in ecstasy, and that his moans were more like sobs.  
Frustrated, Sauron tried other techniques with him, but nothing seemed to work, and finally he gave up.

-Damned frigid Elf! What's the problem with you? If I wanted to see you crying, I would have put you in the torture room, not in my bed. This doesn't satisfy me, and I don't understand how you cannot enjoy yourself with all these things I'm doing. My lord Melkor is a Vala and he becomes literally crazy when I make him love. Do you think you are better than him?

The Elf had his face hidden in the crook of his elbow to hide the tears, and had contracted his legs in shame.

-Dost thou ... Dost thou do this to thy lord and he likes it? Morgoth is a pervert... And a harlot. –he muttered with faltering voice.

Sauron was perplexed by such an insolent affront.

-What are you saying!?

-Ask in Valinor, ask in the halls of Mandos.

The lieutenant stood up from the bed, furious. Not only was he consumed with unfulfilled lust, but now he also had to listen to a prisoner insulting his lord.

-Very well, I won't waste my time with you any second longer. You will return to your cell, this time naked, and there you will spend your last night: dying of cold when you could be enjoying yourself in the arms of a Maia. –he sentenced with curtness. - I'll go find your companion, that man, and I will give him the favours that you despise. Surely he will not reject them.

Upon hearing this, the Elf lifted his head and stared at the lieutenant, as if in hesitation. Seeing that he didn't move out of bed, Sauron grabbed his arm, ready to drag him if it was necessary. But to his surprise, the Elf stroked his hand, and the blue of his eyes trembled with regret.

-No, please, lord Sauron, don't bring me back to the cell. I was a fool, I'm sorry. But I changed my mind. Let me be the one to keep thee company tonight, I promise I won't complain anymore. I was nervous and embarrassed, that's all. Please understand that this is the first time someone touches me in this way. But I don't want to die a virgin! Please give me another chance.

Before Sauron had time to reflect on the sincerity or hypocrisy of the Elf, he was already kissing him with apparent desire, while undressing him without qualms. And when he felt the prisoner's mouth closing around his swollen and pleading member, the lieutenant just stopped caring about everything else. The dignified and snooty lord of the Noldor, who only moments ago had been offended by the implication of having slept with his fiancée before marriage, opened then to the Maia without shame, and allowed him to take his body completely.  
Sauron moaned at the feeling of fullness that seized him, and with his eyes closed, he tried to imagine that he was inside his lord again.  
But the illusion was broken soon: the Elf was too weak, and cold, and blond to be taken for his master. However, that didn't mean that he couldn't enjoy him as well.

-Do you like this? -he whispered, as he entered and left his body slowly. And leaning over his ear, he added with a grin:- Do you like this, Finrod Felagund? That I do this to you in your own bed, in the same tower in which you were once lord? Tomorrow you will tell me all about Nargothrond and your current mission. But tonight enjoy yourself, just enjoy yourself, king of the Noldor.

Sauron licked his neck, and Finrod closed his eyes in pain.  
Besides the river, the wolves were howling madly.

Upon finishing, the lieutenant panted exhausted and the Elf shook from top to bottom, still confused by the new sensations. The Maia put his arm around him and pressed him against his body, while drowsiness began to make way through his head.

-Please, lord Sauron. Could I return now to my cell? –muttered Finrod shyly.

-Mmm ... No, stay here for now. Perhaps my appetite will wake up again during the night. Ah! And don't try to escape, the door of the room is locked with a spell.

In the darkness of the alcove, and before giving himself to restorative sleep, the lieutenant heard the Elf sobbing softly.

-What happens to you? -he murmured apathetic.- I made you climax more times than I could count. I don't think you have reasons to cry.

Finrod's voice reached him from far away, half sunk into unconsciousness as he was already:

-Oh, lord lieutenant of Angband! Thou art very sharp for some things. I'm surprised that thou art so incredibly obtuse for others.

The next morning, Sauron awoke with a strange feeling of coldness under his arm. Finrod was pale and lethargic, and his breathing was so faint that at first he believed him dead. He shook him to wake him up but the Elf didn't react. Confused, the lieutenant broke the spell that held the door shut, and called out the sentinel Orcs. After a few seconds, a couple of them appeared at the doorway and blinked dumbfounded at the scene they found inside.

-What is going on here!? This Elf appears to be dying, and I had to interrogate him today! What did ye put in his dinner last night!? -he shouted enraged.

The Orcs shrugged.

-My lord, we didn't put any poison in his food, we swear. What happens is that these Elves sometimes get very sick and die when ...-the Orcs exchanged uneasy glances.- ... when ... thou knowest ... when they are abused.

The lieutenant froze, and looked alternatively at Finrod and the Orcs, as if waiting for an explanation.

-But I haven't ... I haven't abused him, damn it! Do ye think that I'm like you, filthy worms without honour? I don't need to abuse anyone!

The Orcs looked down with shyness.  
Sauron didn't understand. The Elf had surrendered to him of his own free will, he hadn't forced him. It was true that he had seduced him, indeed, and it was true that the prisoner had been reluctant at first. But ultimately, it was Finrod who had decided to stay at his side, and had kissed him, and had given him pleasure willingly! That could only be a morbid joke, a ruse to escape the interrogation.  
Suddenly the Maia felt a great discomfort in his stomach, and disgust, and shame. For the dying Elf that lay next to him, and for the Orcs in the doorway, and perhaps also for himself, for what he had done led by the most ignoble passions.

-Take him out of my sight! Dress him with the remainder of this tunic and bring him to his cell. -he commanded, without even turning to look at him.

Later during that day, he went down to the dungeon to see if the Noldo had recovered enough to carry out the interrogation.  
He found him conscious, but very weak. The human held him in his arms and stroked his hair gently as tears slipped over his head. Upon hearing the creak of the prison's door, Finrod raised his eyes, but their blue colour had faded and become glassy.

-Monster! What have you done!? -shouted the man infuriated, when he found himself face to face with the lieutenant. He made a vain attempt to get rid of his chains to leap on him.

Sauron couldn't help being impressed by the ferocity of the man, by his eyes and face, reddened by tears and anger, and by his apparent strength. That wasn't an ordinary man, indeed.  
Finrod lifted a hand slowly and touched the man's face to calm him.

-There's nothing wrong. Don't worry. He may have sullied my body. But in no case can he touch my soul. At least I made him stay away from you. -said the Elf in an almost inaudible whisper.

The man broke down and redoubled his sobs.

-Tell me ... Tell me that it's not true ... Tell me that he didn't what I think he did ... Not even Morgoth would approve of such a baseness!

-I haven't done anything! –snapped Sauron, increasingly uncomfortable. - It's his fault for being so frail and weak. And anyway, man, don't cry too much for him, for he has little more to suffer in this life. I will take him away for the interrogation, and when I've extracted all the information I need, I will grant death to him and to you. And it will be the end of your miseries.

However, one of the Orc guards stopped him before he took the prisoner.

-My lord Sauron, he's still too weak. If thou torturest him now, he will probably die before saying anything.

The lieutenant clenched his fists in annoyance. Nothing was more frustrating to him than having to postpone torture. But the Orc was right: if the Elf died, all his secrets would die with him. And after all, an immortal Maia could afford to be patient and wait a bit longer.

-I'll come back later. And you will speak, Finrod Felagund. -he said simply.

And turning away with a fluttering movement of his cape, he slammed the cell door shut. And the prisoners were left in darkness again, trembling.

Throughout the day and evening, Sauron visited the prison regularly to see if Finrod was recovering, but he didn't observe any improvement, and his impatience and irritation kept increasing. He would have liked to grab Thuringwethil and make her taste her own blood with the whip, to kill the idle time between visits, and to thank her for the great advice of sleeping with the Elf. Unfortunately, the vampire seemed to be gone from the tower, no doubt in search of another adventure.

Thus came the sunset. And the wolves began to howl with nervousness and, above all, hunger.  
Outside the cell were heard the low footsteps of some boots going down the stairs towards the dungeon. They were the unmistakable footsteps of the lieutenant, but this time they were accompanied by other steps too, by the quiet and muffled steps of a four-legged creature.  
When the door opened, two eyes glowing like coals peered through the doorway, waiting eagerly at the feet of their master, and the stench of blood filled the stale air of the prison.  
It was a werewolf, and foam gushed out his mouth.

-I've decided to be merciful with you, Finrod, if just because of the night of pleasure that you gave me. –said Sauron, his mouth twisting wryly. - I'll give you the option to confess everything quickly and without pain, neither for you nor for your friend. Then I'll let you go away and ye will live in peace what may be left of your miserable lives. This I promise you as the Maia I am, and in the name of my lord Melkor, the Mighty Arising. However, if in spite of all, you insist on being unreasonable and refusing to talk, then this friend of mine, -and he stroked the head of the monster- will carve up and devour your human friend before your own eyes. Be sensible, Finrod, among the virtues of kings is knowing how to reach diplomatic agreements that benefit all sides, isn't it? And you love your comrade, true? He's important to you. You do not want to see him slit open while beasts feast on his intestines, am I right?

Upon this, the Elf hesitated for a moment, but soon realized that all options had been reduced to a single, unquestionable one, and lowering his head in defeat, he opened his mouth to confess. Sauron leaned forward expectantly. But once again, the man stood in his way:

-Don't tell him anything, Finrod! Don't you see that he's lying?

-But Beren, if I don't, you ...!

-I don't mind dying. And even less now, that I know I'll never see her again.

-Ye are making me lose my patience, speak it now! –cried Sauron, and the werewolf yanked violently from the chain that restrained him, more enraged every time by the smell of fresh flesh.

-I must confess, Beren. I promised your father that I would look after you.

-My father is dead! And I'll be too soon, whether you talk or not. But think about her. If you reveal the plan you will put her in danger!

-I'm going to count to three, Finrod! –warned the Maia. The werewolf growled and drooled, and made another attempt at pouncing on them.

-It's the only option, Beren. If I let them kill you, there will be no peace for my soul neither here nor in the halls of Mandos. Never again.

-One!

-And if you tell all, there will be no peace for me neither in this life nor in the next. Knowing that she has fallen into the clutches of Morgoth because of our cowardice.

-Two!

-I'm going to speak.

-No, you will not! -then the man closed the Elf's mouth with his hand, and although he struggled, Finrod was unable to get rid of the gag in his weakened state.

-Three! Farewell, Beren. Go now wherever men go upon death. -and saying this, the lieutenant let go the chain that held the beast, and he jumped on the human.

It all happened in a split second. The Elf, who until then was barely able to get off the ground, and therefore wasn't chained, extracted a supernatural strenght from some secret corner of his being, from his last intact corner, and ran out to meet the monster.  
To the astonishment of the man and the Maia, the two bodies intertwined in a confusion of teeth, torn limbs, claws, saliva, blood and shreds of clothing. The screams of the beast filled the cell with an unbearable roar, but at some point they ceased suddenly.  
The wolf fell to the ground with a thud and his neck broken, and Finrod crawled toward his companion, leaving behind a trail of blood that signaled the end.  
Collapsing on the arms of his faithful friend, he spent the little breath he had left to bid farewell in a whisper:

-Farewell Beren, son of Barahir. I tried to protect you as best as I could, and knowing that I die in peace. Maybe we'll meet once more. Though never again in this life. Farewell.

And thus he died.  
Beren, blinded by tears and unable to utter a single word, just leaned over the corpse and kissed his forehead and his two closed eyelids.  
The lieutenant was puzzled. He directed his gaze alternately to the motionless bulk of the beast, and to the two figures embraced, without fully understanding what had just happened.  
Outside in the nearby forest, a nightingale began to trill in the twilight. And a song, sweeter, sadder and deeper than any that had been heard in Arda, neither in the melody of its winds, nor in the murmur of its groundwaters, entered the prison through the small window with the last rays of the dying Sun.  
Sauron shuddered upon hearing the voice, and some primordial terror paralyzed him on the spot. Once he managed to overcome it, he ran to the window and looked out in search of the wraith that sang thus. But he only saw a maiden standing on the stone bridge that lead to the fortress, and a huge dog at her side, carrying a black bulk in his mouth.

-Lord of the tower! From now onwards, thou wouldst do well by listening more closely to thy spies. -cried the maiden in defiance, raising her arms. And the dog dropped on the floor the shapeless bulk: it was the skin and wings of Thuringwethil, who evidently had passed away.- Thy eye sees many things, but ignores those of us that seem insignificant. Someday that blindness will cause thy downfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Sauron's human servant: One of the first men that Melkor took from Hildórien. He granted him a very long life, but also disfigured and mistreated him. Sauron took him under his wing and he turned into his most loyal servant. Known as the "Shadow of Sauron".
> 
> -Sauron and Orodreth: Before assaulting Minas Tirith, Sauron infiltrated the tower as a maiden (under the fake name of "Thuringwethil") to inspect the defenses. Ashamed of telling Melkor that he had turned into a woman to enter the tower, he simply told his master that Thuringwethil had done it. Thus Melkor asked him to make the vampire his second-in-command in the tower, in gratitude for her supposed spionage mission.


	2. The Lady on the Stone Bridge

_But Lúthien hath cunning arts  
for solace sweet of kingly hearts._

-The Lay of Leithian: Canto XIII.

It took Sauron just a few seconds to recognize the two visitors of the tower. The maiden couldn't be other than Lúthien, the daughter of Melian, as her breathtaking song and painful-to-look-at beauty indicated. The lieutenant tried to avert his eyes from her face at once, with a superstitious fear of being bewitched by some enchantment of feminine evil, since he had heard that the maiden was an expert sorcerer, just as her mother.  
The huge dog was, to the annoyance of Sauron, none other than Huan, the wolfhound of the Valar. The antipathy that he felt for the animal came from long ago. Already in Valinor, when Sauron was still a servant of Aulë, and the attraction towards Melkor had just begun to insinuate in his heart, already then, that dog had sensed something dark in his soul, something that not even the most intuitive of the Valar could perceive yet. And he had instinctively hated him. Not once passed the Maia by the animal, without him raising his hackles and starting to growl and bark, to the embarrassment of Oromë, that was unable to correct him.  
In one occasion Sauron had tried to soften the tension in the air, and pretending that he didn't care about Huan's barks, he had approached the dog to stroke his head, but he had bitten his hand before the astonished eyes of his owner. The thousand faltering apologies of Oromë were to no avail; from that day on, Sauron felt deep resentment towards the dog, and didn't desire anything but to destroy him.  
Because of fate's coincidences, now he had a perfect opportunity to do so.

-Oh, Lúthien, Lúthien! I think you have lost yourself. If what you wanted were green meadows covered with flowers, on which to dance under the stars, you will not find them here. But you can, however, dance among the bones of your friends under the vaults of my dungeons. I have them right here. -said the lieutenant in a mocking tone.

-I know. I've come to bury those bones, precisely under the debris of your ruined tower. And I've come to rescue my beloved as well. –answered Lúthien impassively.

Sauron smiled, impressed by the calm and cold blood of the girl.

-Do you know, Lúthien? I promised my Lord once that I would capture you for him and I would cage you like a songbird. It is fortunate that you yourself have come flying to my cage, with no need for me to go out to hunt you down.

-You are wrong, lord of the tower. It's me who will capture you, and send you to the presence of your master. Though I doubt he will receive you with much pleasure.

Sauron clenched his teeth, increasingly irritated by the defiant attitude of the maiden. She stood motionless on the stone bridge, and neither the deep waters of the moat, nor the threatening battlements of the tower, nor the howls that came from within, seemed to disturb her in the least.  
Beren continued crying with the lifeless body of Finrod in his arms, but his face had lit up with hope upon hearing the song and voice of his beloved, and that further infuriated the lieutenant.  
He assembled then all his werewolves, and sent them to the bridge to tear that accursed dog to pieces and bring him Lúthien alive. The plan to interrogate Finrod and extract the secrets of Nargothrond and his mission had failed miserably, but that didn't mean that he couldn't find usefulness for those two lovers. Thingol would give them the entire kingdom as soon as he knew that his adored daughter was in Angband. As for the mortal, he certainly knew some of the secrets of Finrod. And if it wasn't so, at least he would be good entertainment for his human servant, who surely missed the company of those of his race.

However, what Sauron saw through the small window pulled him out of his scheming very soon.  
Despite the ferocity of the werewolves, and that they went out through the gates of the fortress in large numbers, Huan defeated and killed them one by one without great problems. Soon a pile of dead skins accumulated on the bridge, on the banks of the moat, or even floated on the stagnant waters.  
In view of this, the lieutenant was forced to take more drastic measures. He ran to one of the turrets, isolated from the rest, and drew back the seven iron bolts of the door, which didn't serve to prevent entry into the turret, but to prevent exit of what hid the turret. Inside, fastened with other seven chains, writhed among froth and growls the largest and most terrible of all the werewolves of the isle, the father of them all. Draugluin was called, and even Sauron felt some fearful respect for the creature, because the spirit that inhabited the body of that wolf had gone mad with rage long time ago, and in his bloodlust he didn't always differentiate between friend and foe.  
With lots of caution, he approached him and began to loosen the chains, but the werewolf tried to bite him and almost hurted his arm.

-Thou hast left me too much time locked in here without food, lord lieutenant. Give me a good reason to not eat thee right now. -roared the beast with a deep voice, while streams of bloody drool slipped through his fangs.

-Outside is Huan, the wolfhound of the Valar, a much more delicious morsel than me. Him you can eat whole. But I want the maiden alive.

-I promise nothing. -snapped the monster, and as soon as he saw himself freed from the chains, he ran like a furious whirlwind out of the turret, knocking down more than one off-guard Orc.

Sauron looked out at the bridge again, in time to see how Draugluin charged at Huan and sank his teeth in his jugular.  
The fight was terrible, and streams of red and black blood flowed from both opponents. But at the end of the battle, the dog of the Valar was still standing. The werewolf, on the other hand, crawled painfully into the fortress and went to die in front of his master, cursing the name of Huan with his last breath.

Sauron felt extremely humiliated. Down there, the dog panted a little tired, but still willing to fight. And Lúthien fixed on him her undaunted eyes, that seemed to gather the mocking brightness of all the stars of Varda together.  
The lieutenant remembered then an old prophecy that spoke of how Huan would only fall before the jaws of the greatest wolf that had ever existed, and a cunning idea crossed his mind.

Moments later, a black and monstrously huge beast, with one eye of glass and one of flame, went outside and run forward across the bridge. His first target was Lúthien, whom he planned to bite on the face, thus ruining her beauty forever. He realized with satisfaction how terror appeared on the maiden's visage at the moment of pouncing on her, but then she waved the dark cloak that covered her in front of the eyes of the Maia, and a strange daze clouded his mind. Sauron staggered confused, and before he had time to react, he felt the dog's jaws closing around his throat like a steel trap.  
The lieutenant squirmed in panic, and his body faded painfully, melting and regrouping in a rapid succession of horrendous forms that completely escaped his control. First he lost his members and got covered with scales, then countless tentacles sprouted from his body and stirred in despair, but not even thus he managed to escape from the jaws of Huan.  
Finally, defeated, he recovered his usual appearance and was left panting and trembling.  
A shape wrapped in darkness stood in front of him, and when he raised his eyes he ran into the perfect and ironic smile of Lúthien.

-Look at you, proud lord of the tower. You would not move even if you gathered all your black sorcery for it. Give me the keys of the tower and the spell that binds stone to stone. If you don't, I'll rip that flesh envelope that covers now your spirit, and I will send you naked before your lord Morgoth, and you will be unable to do anything to hide your shame anymore because I'll rob you of that power forever. I've got that ability, so do not tempt me.

Sauron blinked blinded and confused by the gray glow emitted by the maiden's eyes. He struggled weakly, in an attempt to escape, but the fangs of the dog sank deeper into his neck, and he felt a trickle of blood running down his skin.  
In his head crowded suddenly all the memories and feelings of those sixty years that he had spent immured and naked in Angband, and imagined how would it be to live the rest of his existence like that: constantly exposed to the gaze of the other Maiar, despised by Melkor, moreover, unable to mate with Melkor anymore.  
Feeling violated in the uttermost depths of his being, he had no choice but to consent to the agreement. And with strangled voice, he whispered in the ear of Lúthien the words that kept the fortress standing and that, likewise, could tear it down.  
Satisfied, the maiden told Huan to release the Maia, and he fled away in the shape of a bat.  
He was so embarrassed, that he didn't even dare to look back, to see how the tower of Tol-in-Gaurhoth collapsed amid a column of dust and debris.

When the summits of Thangorodrim emerged before his eyes, Sauron didn't remember the path he had followed to reach Angband due to his general bewilderment.  
Flitting from here to there without much judgment, he sought a discreet entrance through which he could penetrate the fortress without being seen by anyone. The last thing he wanted was having to explain his failure in front of the hordes of curious Orcs, and of sarcastic Balrogs, and above all, of Gothmog. Explaining what had happened to Melkor was going to be a painful enough experience to endure, on top of that, a public humiliation.  
In the end, the lieutenant found an open window that led to a foul kitchen, and without leaving his bat shape, he went through the galleries of Angband searching for the alcove of his human servant.

It was already dead of night and he found him, indeed, inside his bed and asleep. Sauron adopted then his common shape, approached the bedside, and shook the man to wake him up. The first thing the servant did when he opened his eyes, and discerned in the half-light a dark shadow bending over him, was moving away with a start and covering himself with the sheet.

-Please, no, have mercy on me! -he cried in alarm, and the lieutenant was forced to cover his mouth with his hand to avoid being overheard outside.

After a series of struggles and reassuring words, Sauron managed to convince him that he was none other than his master, back at the fortress. Then the man relaxed, and all his fear turned immediately into sincere happiness, and oaths of devotion, and praise, and effusive welcomes.  
The Maia thought that the poor creature would throw himself in his arms at any moment if he didn't stop him.

-Silence and listen! –he cut him off with a curt gesture- You have to do me a favour. A secret favour that nobody must know of.

The man opened his eyes and mouth in astonishment, and suddenly he seemed extremely excited.

-Of course, master! I am at thy entire disposal to do whatever thou askest me. –he said dutifully, and dropped himself on the pillow with languidness.

-Well, then get dressed, look for the lord Melkor and tell him that I've returned to Angband and need to talk to him privately about a matter of vital importance. Tell him that I'd like to meet him in his bedroom. And remember, no one must know of this, no one must know that I'm in the fortress except Melkor. Now go away!

For some mysterious reason, the man seemed very disappointed upon hearing this, and got dressed and left the room a little reluctantly.  
After a while he returned to inform him that Melkor was waiting for him in the bedroom. Sauron turned into a bat again and headed there with the utmost discretion.  
Fortunately, there were no sentries in front of the room.

While standing at the door, and before knocking on it to inform of his arrival, uncertainty paralyzed him for a moment. He hadn't seen his master in ten years and didn't know what he was going to find inside, especially after the fight with Fingolfin.  
What if he had lost an eye, for example? What if they had cut him a member?  
Unable to endure the doubts any longer, he plucked up courage, knocked on the door, and after hearing Melkor's permission, entered the room cautiously.  
His master had his back turned, looking out the window, and at least at first glance he seemed to be well. However, when he turned to greet the lieutenant, the latter couldn't help being startled by what he saw.  
A huge scar, like three whitish striae, crossed the left half of the face of his master, in what must be the mark of an animal claw.  
Melkor frowned upon seeing this reaction.

-What happens Sauron? Do you think that my scar is ugly? -groaned the Vala, very offended.

-With all due respect, my Lord, I think it's horrible. -confessed Sauron, once he recovered his composure. Melkor's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to throw out some curse at him, but the lieutenant continued before he had time to reply.- However, thou art still as beautiful as before. Even more so, because that mark gives thee now that fierce and fearsome air thou deservest. I wish I could have seen thee battling with that foolish Elf, have seen thee in thy black armour brandishing Grond as easily as others wave a feather. A god of rage and war, bathed in the blood of his enemies. I wish I could have been there, to perceive all that virile magnetism emanating from thy body, and to feel it entering through every one of my pores. Oh, my Lord, how I would have fallen at thy feet then!

The lieutenant took a tentative step towards the Vala, in a seductive attitude, and Melkor's mood seemed to soften at once. Sauron knew very well how to appease his lord and cheer him up, and precisely then, that he brought him such unpleasant news, he needed to soften him as much as possible.  
Melkor also approached a bit, and then the Maia realized with horror that he limped on one of his legs and could only walk with obvious pain and difficulty.  
This time the lieutenant didn't let his emotions show through, because even if the scar on his face was a trifle, that injury must be terribly humiliating for the Vala, and by showing pity he would just hurt him further.  
Melkor, however, guessed his disturbance.

-As you can see, Sauron, I'm also crippled. What do you think? I, the most powerful god of Arda, can barely walk, while the last and most despicable of Orcs scampers around me just like that. As you can guess, now everyone knows about my inability to change shape, but at least I don't need to wear that glove anymore. Let all of them see my hand burned by the Silmarils, and my face torn by the claws of Thorondor, and my shameful lameness! What does it matter now? I have also another seven scars across my body... But those I will only show to you. In private.

The Vala smiled with a curious mixture of lust and shyness. Then Sauron stood before him, encircled his waist with his arms, and grabbing his backside, pressed him against his pelvis.  
While he explored that familiar body through the robe, he noticed how Melkor approached his hips in an eloquent gesture and began to throb aroused.

-Didn't you have to tell me something very important, the reason why you have left your post in Tol-in-Gaurhoth? –muttered the Vala, as his servant kissed him along the neck.

-Yes, my Lord. But let me love thee first, please. I've been away from thee for too long, and now I don't crave anything but seeing those scars that thou speakst about and run my tongue over each one of them.

-Those scars are the constant reminder of the pain that I feel, Sauron.

-And that pain is the constant reminder of thy triumph over the king of the Noldor and the despair of thy enemies, my Lord.

Melkor sighed pleased and allowed his lieutenant's caresses to comfort him.  
It was true that Sauron wanted to make him forget his misery, at least for a while. And it was true that he wanted to feel his body again with a sincere passion.  
But it was also true that this was the best way to inform him that Tol-in-Gaurhoth no longer existed.  
Whenever one made love to him, Melkor was left in an exhausted and melancholic state, much more appropriate for the tough mission of giving him the bad news. Also, once he was completely satisfied, the Vala tended to relativize and downplay everything around him.  
So if he had to talk about his defeat at the hands of a maiden and her dog, he better do it when his master had no breath to yell at him.

Thinking about this, Sauron pushed Melkor slightly towards the bed. And the Vala, guessing what came next, hung from his neck with redoubled passion and pressed his face against his skin to get filled with the scent of the Maia, as he often did.  
But this time, the smell that he perceived was different.  
With a sudden shove, the Vala moved his servant away, and when the lieutenant looked at him in dismay, he discovered on his countenance a deep indignation.

-Sauron, you have slept with an Elf! How dare you to touch me while being still drenched in his nauseating smell!?

-I ... I have not ... My Lord, what are you talking about?

-Do not play innocent with me! Did you really think that I wouldn't notice? With whom have you slept? Confess!

Sauron looked down, blushing to the tips of his hair. He couldn't lie, not to Melkor.

-With Finrod... With Finrod Felagund, the king of Nargothrond.

Melkor raised an eyebrow in surprise.

-And may I know the unfathomable reason why you have raped the king of Nargothrond?

-I didn't rape him! –protested Sauron for the umpteenth time.

-So that means he made advances towards you?

-Well, not exactly, but...

-I don't understand anything, Sauron. Why did you do something as stupid and disgusting as sleeping with an Elf?

The lieutenant felt increasingly irritated. Normally it was he who did the interrogations, not who suffered them.

-And what about thee, huh? –he snapped- Art thou going to tell me now that in ten years thou hast lived in perfect chastity? Thou mustest have had hundreds of lovers.

-Here in Angband!? –exclaimed Melkor, pointing with his arms around him.- Who!? The Orcs? The trolls? Glaurung, perhaps?

-What about Gothmog?

-Hmmm ... That didn't work. –muttered the Vala, looking away.- But stop talking about me, and let's talk about you and what has happened in Tol-in-Gaurhoth! I suspect you are hiding something important and I want to know it right now. Depending on what it is, I will reward you with a bit of love later... or maybe not, we'll see.

Sauron sighed downhearted, and made an effort to cool his desire. It was clear that he would spend that night alone as well.  
He told his lord everything that had happened in the tower, from the capture of the twelve outlaws, to his lapse with Finrod, the arrival of Lúthien and Huan, the slaughter of the werewolves, and finally, his own defeat in the fight with the dog of the Valar.  
After finishing his story, he waited downcast for Melkor's punishment, for his shouts of rage, his curses, maybe for a loud slap.  
But instead of that, he just heard him breaking into laughter.  
The lieutenant looked at him dumbfounded. Of all the things that his master could have done, laughing in his face that way was probably the most humiliating one.  
The Maia coughed very uncomfortable:

-Ahem! My Lord, I don't think that having lost our base of the river Sirion and having seen all our werewolves turned into carrion is a cause for laughter. Not even the death of Thuringwethil should be a cause for laughter.

-I know, Sauron, I know. –said the Vala, trying to control himself in vain.- But still I can't believe that a little girl and her pet have defeated the proud lieutenant of Angband. It's so pathetic of you...!

-I imagine it's much more pathetic than being eaten by a spider, my Lord.

Melkor's laughter ceased at once, and he narrowed his eyes furious. Perhaps he wasn't the most suitable to make fun of others, after all.

-I suppose you know already that you will receive a tremendous punishment for all of this, right? –he said awkwardly, and turning his back to him, limped to the window.

-Of course, my Lord. I didn't expect anything else, and will accept my punishment with resignation. I know that what I've done is very serious.

-Well. Tomorrow you will receive one hundred lashes in front of the troops. And it will be Gothmog who administers them to you.

Sauron's eyes widened in disbelief. Maybe he wasn't so willing to accept his punishment with resignation, after all.

-Gothmog? But my liege, Gothmog has no authority over me, he's not entitled to punish me! I am the lieutenant, I am his superior. It's too shameful!

-Well Sauron, of course it's shameful. It wouldn't be a real punishment if it was not, isn't it true? –replied Melkor, turning around and giving him a charming smile of malice.

Seconds later, Sauron left the room so enraged, that he almost ran over his human servant, who clearly had stayed behind the door to listen the conversation.

-What happened, master? Didn't it go well? -asked the man, running after the lieutenant to reach him in his strides.

-What do you think!? Have you heard us playing in bed? No, isn't it? –groaned the Maia stopping short.

A half-concealed smirk appeared on the lips of his servant.

-I'm sorry, master. The lord Melkor treats thee very bad sometimes. Thou deservest more appreciation and admiration, indeed. -and then he added cryptically:- Well, I will be in my alcove just in case... well, just in case thou neededst me later.

The next day at dawn, the hordes of Angband crowded in the throne room to attend the well-deserved punishment of their lieutenant.  
Floggings and public humiliations were among the favourite entertainments in the fortress, and the spectacle of that day turned out to be more than just satisfactory.  
A hundred times hit Gothmog's fire whip on the white back of the Maia, and a hundred times cheered the Balrogs his captain to accompany each crack.  
Gothmog enjoyed that stellar moment more than he had enjoyed any battle, no matter how victorious had it been. And the Orcs laughed rowdy. And Melkor shivered with pleasure at every cry of his lieutenant.  
Only the Shadow of Sauron stayed in a corner, dejected and joyless.

When the last fire lashing had crossed the skin of the Maia, Gothmog untied him and helped him to his feet, in a gesture rather of mocking superiority than kindness. Sauron felt the scorched grooves of his back piercing him to the core, as a hundred twinges of pain.  
Not that it mattered. As the Ainu he was, able to change shape at will, he could recover his intact flesh whenever he wanted. It was rather the shame of having cried under the whip of his rival what tormented him.  
Melkor was satisfied and rose from the throne. But he did it too abruptly, and a sharp pain in his side forced him to bend and let out a moan. That was where the sword of Fingolfin had penetrated him at deepest.  
The jubilant atmosphere fell silent at once, and Melkor ran his uneasy eyes over the worried faces of his Orcs and Balrogs.

-What are ye doing there stunned, don't ye see that the show is already over!? Get out of my sight, scum! -he shouted, and in a second the throne room was empty except for the Vala, the lieutenant and Gothmog.

The sight of his lord in agony, suffering from wounds that would never heal, had made Sauron forget his own pain. And by the time when Melkor came before him, limping miserably, all the annoyance of the Maia was already gone.

-Sauron, wipe that blood that is dripping on my floor and put your shirt back. And now listen well ye two, because we have to do something about the current situation. –ordered the Vala, and once the lieutenant had recovered his dignity, he continued with the instructions.- We know that Finrod is dead, and whatever plans that he had in mind, he took them to the grave with him. But we still have that Bur... eh ...

-Beren, my Lord.

\- ... That Beren wandering through the woods in freedom, together with the half-Elf and the mangy dog of the Valar. And I can't stay calm on my throne knowing that those who stole my fortress of the Sirion still live in freedom and without receiving their punishment.

-What dost thou command, my Lord?

-The first thing I'm going to do is placing my favourite wolf, my loyal Carcharoth, at the gates of Angband. Just so that, in the unlikely event that those wretches arrived here unharmed, they'll be unable to come inside but in pieces. Other than that, I want that you, Gothmog, watch over the borders of Doriath. Perhaps Lúthien will decide to visit her outcast father. As for you, Sauron... how did you say that was called the father of Beren?

-Barahir, my Lord. He was the leader of that band of outlaws that we destroyed in Taur-nu-Fuin. Thanks to my cunning, I might add... -and the lieutenant glanced sideways to his rival.

-It's true, Barahir. Well, in that case you, Sauron, will watch over Taur-nu-Fuin and darken its paths and fill the lush grove with terrors. It's possible that this man has his hideout in the same place where his father had it, and if it's so, I want him to get tangled in the net of your spells and to not come out anymore.

The lieutenant nodded, assenting, and then left the throne room with Gothmog to get going as soon as possible.  
At the gates of Angband, the Balrog elbowed him upon departing, and whispered in his ear:

-I hope you have better luck in this mission than in your last post, Gorthaur. Although on the other hand, this morning I've enjoyed myself a great deal, and I would like to repeat it sometime in the future, what do you think, eh, lieutenant? -and he burst into a loud guttural laughter.

Sauron simply turned into a bat once more and headed for the shadowy pine forest of Taur-nu-Fuin, but not without making sure first that he sank his claws in the face of the Balrog to fly off.

After this, Angband was very peaceful and quiet during the following days. Nothing seemed to threaten its domains, nothing seemed to lurk around.  
And Melkor started to grow bored.  
Especially now that Carcharoth guarded the entrance of the fortress and couldn't accompany him at the foot of the throne. At least before, he could entertain himself seeing the wolf devouring the raw Elf flesh that he gave him, or seeing how he bristled and growled whenever he sensed the proximity of an Orc.  
Even sometimes, he had the luck of seeing the wolf eating the aforementioned Orc if he caught him off-guard.  
But now it was only him, Melkor, and his throne.  
The black and empty room opened before him like a huge lifeless mausoleum. Even his breath produced echo.

Melkor stirred restless on his seat, and shifted one more time. No matter how he sat, his spine hurt the same.  
He thought about going around the fortress and looking for some lazy Orc or troll to torture for a while, but the prospect of having to drag his limp along all the corridors and staircases of Angband soon discouraged him.  
The Vala sighed, and changed position again. It was useless, the jabs in his column wouldn't disappear.  
Such a shame that he could only kill Fingolfin once!  
After a while fighting against these annoyances he became really exasperated. He needed urgently some entertainment to distract him from the pain, and a malicious idea began to take shape in his mind.  
There was a creature in Angband that was always amusing to torment. Especially since, unlike Orcs, hardened by abuse throughout the centuries and used to it, this creature was still fragile and still had some dignity.  
And only who has dignity can be truly humiliated.  
Melkor rose painfully from the throne and went in search for the Shadow of Sauron.  
When his master wasn't in the fortress, the human used to stay out of everything and go as unnoticed as he could, but the Vala knew how to find him.

A few minutes later he dragged him to the throne room, ignoring his whining and pleading, and chained him at the foot of his seat, in the place formerly occupied by Carcharoth. He would be a more or less acceptable substitute for the wolf, even if he couldn't trust this one and had to leave him chained.  
For a long time, Melkor enjoyed his company by molesting him and forcing him to behave like a dog.  
The man didn't dare to complain at any time, not even when the Vala touched him in inappropriate ways, but with the passing of hours his stomach began to rumble with hunger.  
Melkor raised then an eyebrow mischievously.

-But how could I forgot? Your food, of course! At this time I used to give Carcharoth a good piece of Elf thigh.

And stretching out his arm, he grabbed a piece of raw and sickening meat from a nearby bucket, and threw it to the human. He watched the whitish tendons and the pool of blood forming on the flagstones, and his stomach clenched.

-My lord Melkor, I can't eat this or I'll get sick. Do not force me to do it, I beg thee.

The Vala snorted in disgust.

-Bah! Ye men always get sick because of any triviality. You bore me. I'm going to see how is doing my new young dragon, Ancalagon. At least he has intelligence to converse.

Melkor stood up with a yawn, and walked toward the back of the room, heading for the dungeons.  
The Shadow of Sauron glared at the Vala as he disappeared under an arch, and took the opportunity to spit on the floor with contempt.  
How different was everything when his master was in Angband! Then Melkor didn't treat him like a dog, if only in deference to his lieutenant.  
Of course, the Vala would rather not displease too much the one who, after all, warmed him in bed...  
The man twisted his mouth in disgust, not because of the raw meat in front of him, from which blood was still flowing, but because of this last thought.  
Yes, he truly hated Melkor (or should he say Morgoth?). He barely dared to admit it, but he hated him.  
He hated him because the Vala had deceived and disappointed him, because he had trusted him as a god just to receive nothing but pain and humiliation in return.  
And he hated him all the more, because his master Sauron loved him.

Immersed as he was in these gloomy thoughts, the man had barely noticed that a beast had entered the room and approached him with silent steps. When he raised his eyes from the ground, he was almost over him.  
It was a horrible blue-furred werewolf. And though the eyes of the monster seemed strangely tame, the man recoiled terrified.  
The beast came towards him, no doubt ready to eat him, but the chain kept him from fleeing. As a last resort, he threw the piece of meat to his jaws, hoping that he'd get satiated with it and spare his life.  
But to his surprise, the werewolf passed quietly by, and walked under the throne. And there he lay in silence, as docile as a puppy.  
He hadn't recovered from his bewilderment, when the man perceived a strange noise between the arches of the vault, as a hesitant flapping. And he could make out a dark silhouette perched on top of a column.

-Who are you? -he asked with some fear.

-I'm a shadow. -replied a woman's voice.- Who are you?

-A Shadow too.

-You seem to be of the race of men. Or at least, you have been it in the past. And you seem in trouble. If you want, I could free you from the chains of Morgoth forever. –offered the voice.

The man made a sneer.

-No, thanks. I don't need anyone to set me free. I'm very happy here.

-I see. As you like it. –the distinctive echo of some uneven steps echoed through the corridors, approaching the room. The dark silhouette shrunk on its capital, and said in a very low voice:- Now look... and listen.

Melkor returned and dropped on the throne, grumbling under his breath. He had found Ancalagon asleep, and despite the kicks that he gave him, he was unable to wake the dragon. He would punish him later for it, if he remembered the issue and still bothered him.  
The man was very upset, and with faltering voice he tried to warn him about something under the throne and on the roof, but Melkor was in no mood to listen to his ravings.  
He noticed then the piece of meat thrown several feet away, and frowned.

-Is this how you receive the food I give you!? Ungrateful dog ... -and he hit him on the head.

The man bit his lip in anger; if Melkor didn't want to listen to his warnings, well, then let him deal himself with the intruders.  
Up on the roof was heard a flapping, and Melkor raised his eyes at last.

-Who are you and how did you get there? Reveal yourself immediately! -he commanded, between furious and intrigued.

A winged shadow fell from the vault, soaring in circles.  
It was a huge and repulsive vampire, with the membranous wings full of tears, frizzy hair and bloody claws.  
Melkor narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

-And whom do I owe the honour of this unexpected visit?

-I'm Thuringwethil, my lord. Thuringwethil the vampire. -replied the creature with a bow.

The Vala laughed out loud, but it was that laughter of his that chilled the blood, because foreboded an imminent punishment.

-Liar! Thuringwethil is dead, and besides, she smells a lot worse than you. Now show me your true appearance! -and with a hand movement, Melkor broke the illusion that hid the intruder.

The hollow skin of the vampire fell to the floor with a thud, and in its place rose a beautiful maiden wrapped in a blue dress.  
Melkor froze a few seconds before the ethereal vision: The gray eyes that hid in their depths the most ancient sorcery, the black hair imbued with the secrets of the night, the perfect white skin, the immaculate beauty, undefiled, flawless.  
Melkor put his hand on his cheek instinctively, and felt the swollen scar that the claws of Thorondor had left him. Annoyed, he pulled his hand away.

-My name is Lúthien, my lord. –informed quickly the maiden, bowing again, but this time more gracefully.

\- Ah, yes, Lúthien! Who hasn't heard of Lúthien, the daughter of Thingol? I must confess, however, that the rumours about your beauty are exaggerated. –lied the Vala, making a dismissive gesture.

-I understand that for a god, and even more so for the most powerful of the gods, my common beauty must seem insignificant.

-Indeed! Why did you come here to Angband? Have you grown bored already of your immortal life and want to put an end to it? I warn you that it will be a slow and painful end, nonetheless.

-My lord, what I have grown bored of is the life of imprisonment and constant vigilance that I suffered in Doriath. My father is too jealous and protective. He thinks that I'm a valuable jewel that could be stolen at any time, and if he had his way, he would lock me in a display cabinet forever. But I know which are the real jewels of Arda and I know who is truly the only being worthy of admiration and devotion in this world. Nothing on earth is more worthwhile than contemplating thee in all thy greatness, and I fear no danger if the reward is to be in thy presence and serve thee. Only upon thy forehead shines the true light of the Trees. Please, my lord, accept me as thy servant and let me bathe in that divine light as well.

The girl lowered her head humbly, and Melkor had to make a great effort to not get won by praise, because the truth was that it always managed to touch his most sensitive fiber.

-All this that you have said about my greatness, I already know it. But don't think that flattery will save you from my dungeons. Why would I want you as my servant, also? What can a little girl like you do for me, huh? Can you carry an axe perchance, or a sword, can you defeat the kings of the Noldor in battle? No!

-I can sing and dance for thee, my lord.

This time Melkor laughed heartily. Lúthien, however, remained immutable before his taunts.

-You unhappy one! You are talking with the god who brought the world into being with his singing. What can provide me your flat squeakings?

-Even so, my lord, I beg you to hear me sing before judging me.

-Nothing of that, you will go directly to the dungeons! You may have deceived my lieutenant, but you will not do it with me. -the Vala, all his patience lost already with the intruder, made as if to stand up from the throne to grab the girl.

But a twinge in his side stopped him, and the maiden escaped nimbly from his clutches.

-Please, my lord, it will be just a moment. Listen!

Then, before the helpless and incredulous eyes of Melkor, Lúthien began to sing a melody of rare beauty and to dance in front of his throne without even asking for permission.  
The singing of the girl seemed to have some kind of physical quality, as if it was entwining with the air of the room and formed a rope around Melkor, which kept him on the throne, unable to move.  
The Vala began to relax much to his chagrin, and an invincible weariness took hold of his legs, and then of his arms, and finally of his entire body.  
And at the same time that this weariness seized him, a tenuous flow of pleasure began to run down his veins as well. And it was so nice, so sublime that mixture of weakness and pleasure, that he quickly forgot where he was and what he was doing. And the evil thoughts that a moment ago inhabited his mind, began to disintegrate one by one.  
Now he just wanted to hear that melody and watch the ethereal shape dancing in front of him.  
Blue veils swirled under the torch lights emitting unreal flashes, and among them peered, from time to time, two gray eyes. Melkor shuddered upon seeing those eyes, and let out a sigh.  
It was so delicious, that feeling, that melody that went inside and outside of his body with each inflection of the voice... And the Silmarils were heavy. The Silmarils had become the three summits of Thangorodrim. The weight of the world upon his head.  
Beside him, the chained man moaned in his sleep, and Melkor discovered with horror and anxiety that he too wanted to surrender to sleep.  
But that couldn't be, he never slept. Only when... Only after making love.  
That Elf loved him, no doubt. Was she trying to seduce him? And what could he do?  
Melkor slid down the back of the throne, as if finally offering himself.  
A million images of torture, and pain, and carnal acts of the past, and exquisite pleasure assaulted his mind at the same time. And among them, intermittently, appeared the blue veils and the two gray eyes, dragging him to the dephts. Always down, down and inside.  
Then everything went black, and he knew no more.

The first thing he saw upon awakening, was the face of his lieutenant bending over him with concern. That wasn't so unusual, but the faces of the many Orcs and Balrogs that he discovered around when his vision was no longer blurred, was it.

-Sauron, what are all these people doing in my bedroom? -he murmured, trying to sit up.

His head hurt as much as if three Tulkas had danced on it.

-Thou art not in thy bed, my Lord. Thou art lying on the ground. –the Maia informed him.

Melkor blinked several times, until he focused the room correctly.  
Indeed, he was in the throne room, spread-eagled on the stone slabs without much dignity, and everyone watched him disturbed.  
Blushing, the Vala accepted the arm that his lieutenant offered him and stood up. His right side was bruised and sore, and jabs ran through his lame leg.

-What happened, Sauron? What are you doing here?

-My spies of Taur-nu-Fuin informed me that they had seen two beings similar to Thuringwethil and Draugluin heading this way. I suspected it was a trap, so I flew to Angband as fast as I could. However, I couldn't make it on time, as it seems. I don't know how the intruders managed to elude the vigilance of Carcharoth, and besides, the wolf is gone...

The torrent of information thundered in the ears of Melkor without him understanding its meaning very well.  
Only the remains of a ghostly melody reverberated still in his memory.  
Then the Vala noticed a suspicious lightness on his head, and realized that the iron crown was lying a few steps from him.  
That made him feel terribly naked.

-Pick up my crown right now, stupid! -he shouted to a nearby Orc, kicking him.

The wretched creature bowed before him until touching the ground with his nose, and brought him the crown at once. The Vala snatched it from his trembling claws and placed it back above his forehead, feeling immediately relieved.  
At that moment, a cry of horror filled the throats of all present, and even Sauron stepped back, his eyes frozen.

-What? What's going on? What are ye all looking at!? -roared the Vala, enraged. The Orcs began to tremble, and some of them stuttered while pointing at the crown. Melkor clenched his fists, irritated by their sudden muteness.- A mirror! Bring me a mirror immediately!

There was general confusion, and some Orcs took the opportunity to flee the room surreptitiously. Finally, a group of Balrogs brought a full-length mirror to the Vala, and then retreated in haste without looking up.  
Melkor examined his reflection.  
The first thing he noticed was a new cut on his cheek, still bleeding. It was shallow and probably would not left a scar, but it overshadowed his mood nonetheless.  
He raised his eyes a little, and squinting, he watched the glow of his Silmarils. They were as beautiful and bright as always, as fascinating and as painful to behold as always.  
With the exception that, instead of being three, now they were just two. The only thing the two jewels of the sides framed, was the huge empty hole of the central stone, all the more evident because of this frame of light.

The corner of Melkor's lips contracted imperceptibly. And in the ominous silence of the room was heard the gnashing of teeth that pressed against each other.  
A very fine line appeared on the surface of the mirror, and then spread from the center to the rim.  
There was a subtle "crack", and then the mirror exploded into a thousand pieces, injuring those who were around. The yells of anger and curses of the Vala shook Angband from its foundations to the highest peaks of Thangorodrim, and a wave of fire swept the entire room and lit the tapestries that covered the walls.  
Panic spread among the Orcs, trapped by the flames, and they tried to flee in stampede, trampling each other. Sauron was quick to send a gust of ice around to extinguish the fire, before it consumed the whole room, while Melkor destroyed pieces of furniture, one after the other, and shouted incoherencies:

-My Silmaril! Who among you, filthy traitors, has my Silmaril!? Give it back to me! And don't dare to look at my crown, don't look at my crown, ye damned things! I'll rip out the eyes of anyone who dares to look at my crown! And I want that all mirrors of Angband are destroyed! Give me back my Silmaril!

The lieutenant tried to calm the Vala grabbing him by the shoulders, but when he touched him, he burned his hands. He wasn't sure if it was due to the incandescence of Melkor, or to some extreme iciness that had invaded him.  
Unable to approach him with his physical form, Sauron found no choice but to disembody and violently pass through the Vala to focus his attention.  
The lieutenant materialized again before him, and Melkor was paralyzed for a few seconds, shaking with fury and disbelief.  
Now the Vala could hear him.

-Please, calm down, my Lord. I'll find thy Silmaril, I guarantee thee. But thou mustest rest. Also, I don't think that an army of blind Orcs would be very useful, dost thou think not?

Melkor nodded absently, with his gaze lost beyond the Maia.

-Yes, Sauron, seeks my Silmaril. Bring it to me right away. -and he extended his hand.

Sauron kissed it with caution. It didn't burn anymore, but in his swollen veins the blood was still boiling.  
After this, the Vala turned around and left the room, limping and leaning on the pillars.  
Behind him he left dozens of Orcs rubbing his wounds and burns, multiple broken slabs, many crystals on the floor, and lots of tapestries reduced to ashes.  
A figure peered shyly from under the throne after the hurricane had passed, and called the lieutenant.

-Master, thou art here at last! Couldst thou release me? I beg thee. I've been chained all the day, without eating and unable to relieve myself.

Sauron took pity on his poor human servant, and opened the chain that held him with a spell.  
The man, instead of standing up, stayed kneeling on the floor and kissed his feet, as if he had grown used to act like a dog.

-I wish that the lord Melkor didn't humiliate you whenever I'm not here, and at the same time, that you did not humiliate yourself so much whenever I am. –sighed Sauron, a bit disturbed by so many signs of unconditional love.- Now tell me, do you know who were the intruders, could you see them?

The man nodded.

-One of them was a really beautiful maiden, with an exceptional singing. At first she was disguised as a vampire.

-She must have been Lúthien.

-Yes, I believe that was her name. The other was like a huge wolf, and hid beneath the throne.

-Could it be Huan, the wolfhound of the Valar?

-Hmmm... It didn't look as a dog to me, but rather as one of those werewolves. He had blue fur.

-Draugluin then. Or rather, someone disguised with Draugluin's skin. Probably Beren... -murmured the lieutenant to himself.- How did they manage to put Melkor to sleep, with some kind of spell or magic cloak?

-I don't know. I remember the maiden began to sing and dance, and I couldn't stop staring at her for a moment. Then I fell asleep, and I suppose that the same happened with the lord Melkor.

Sauron stood thoughtful and tried to tie up the loose ends.  
Judging by the looks of it, Beren and Lúthien had infiltrated Angband only to steal one of the Silmarils.  
But why just one? Was that a kind of challenge, of joke, of promise? Was that the secret plan that Finrod wouldn't talk about? Possibly it was.  
But as a plan, it was quite simplistic and not very logical. The Silmarils had no strategic value, they weren't going to help the kingdoms of the Elves to win any battle by themselves. Also, the Dark Lord had been at their mercy and they had done nothing with him, other than taking the jewel. Why?  
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to the lieutenant that the theft had nothing to do with the war, but was rather a private matter. Beren wanted to give a jewel to his fiancée, nothing more. No, rather, Beren wanted to give a jewel to his fiancée's father, to win her hand in return.  
And if this was so, they could have gone to no other place but the court of Thingol.

-Stand up from there and get ready! –ordered Sauron, grabbing his servant by the arm and lifting him.- We're going to go in search for the stolen Silmaril. Because I guess that you will not want to be left alone in Angband with Melkor in this state of mind, right?

The man shook his head vigourously, and then shot off towards the toilets.

After a short while, Sauron had gathered a large contingent of Orcs at the gates of the fortress, and dividing them into groups of scouts, sent them to inspect in all directions in a radius as large as possible.  
Of course, Gothmog didn't want to stay on the edge and joined the search for the Silmaril as well. Convinced that the thieves had fled towards the Blue Mountains, he marched eastward with his Balrogs, and Sauron was glad to lose sight of him, sure that he wouldn't find anything in those places.  
He and his Shadow would follow their own path.

Before leaving on the horses, the lieutenant inspected in detail the entrance of the fortress.  
There was blood on the ground, human blood. Carcharoth must have attacked Beren when he fled with the Silmaril, and thereafter, doing honour to the trust that Melkor placed on him, he must have pursued the intruders.  
But how could he not reach them, if the beast was much faster than them?  
A few eagle feathers, half buried in the dust, gave him a rough idea of what might have happened: the wolf had wounded Beren and just then the eagles, always watchful, had flown to his aid, and had transported the thieves through the air to a safe place. Carcharoth, using his refined instincts, had chased them from the ground.  
That meant that following the trail of the wolf, they would find the Silmaril.

Thus resolved, Sauron and his servant galloped and searched for many days and nights.  
The wolf's trail of destruction was easy to follow, but strangely erratic. Sometimes he had retraced his steps, or had walked in circles, or had lost time attacking villages without apparent reason.  
Those who had seen the monster, assured that he was mad and spat foam of blood and fire. The lieutenant ignored those stories, no doubt the exaggerations of ignorant Orcs and trolls, and didn't lose heart on his search.  
There weren't any news from the other patrols, and sometimes he lost patience with his Shadow and his constant need to eat and sleep. At that rate, they would never reach the wolf, who seemed to run abnormally fast, even for their horses.  
Nevertheless, he continued on the trail of Carcharoth, and this ended up leading him, as he suspected, to the borders of Doriath and the girdle of Melian.  
Interestingly, the barrier hadn't been able to stop the wolf, because the path that he had opened with his teeth through the bush was clearly visible.

-Well, here we must separate and you have to go on alone. –announced the Maia.- I don't know how Carcharoth has managed to open a gap in the girdle, but the fact is that he has done it, and I sense that it hasn't closed completely yet. You must cross before it does.

The man blinked in confusion.

-But master, why must I go on my own, why dost thou not accompany me?

-I am a Maia and the right hand of Melkor. My presence in the forest would be too powerful to escape the attention of Melian. She knows me too well, also. It's a long story... However, you are still a simple man, I think. Insignificant enough to go unnoticed, and even more so with the tumult that Carcharoth must have caused. I guess you can safely cross the barrier.

The Shadow of Sauron swallowed at hearing that "guess".

-What should I do if I find the thieves? How will I confront them alone?

The lieutenant realized that his servant was right.  
Beren and Lúthien were powerful, especially if Huan was with them, and perhaps they had already met with the soldiers of Thingol. A man alone had no chance against them.  
As for Carcharoth, one couldn't count on his help, because he could be dead already.  
Sauron thought for a moment, and ended up finding a solution.

-My faithful servant, you have been loyal to me all these years. It is high time for you to get initiated in some of the secrets of sorcery.

-Oh, master, nothing would honour me more than that! -exclaimed the man, and Sauron pulled him towards him. The creature trembled with emotion.

-I'll teach you a very simple spell. With it you can create a cloud of thick smoke for a few seconds, through which only you will see, while the others become blind. Use it when you find the thieves and recover the Silmaril among the confusion. But you have to be very fast; these spells for beginners fade away quickly. I fear, however, that if Beren and Lúthien have reached Menegroth, everything will be already lost. –thus saying, the Maia grabbed his servant by the wrist and placed his thumb over his blue veins until he felt his rapid pulse.

Then he leaned on his ear, and still pressing the veins of the wrist, started whispering the words of the spell to him. The Shadow shuddered upon feeling his master so close. The touch of the hand was very cold, but inside he was starting to get overheated.  
When the lieutenant let go of him, his head was spinning and he could hardly breathe.  
The man made a test of the spell before going into the woods with his horse. It worked well.  
Thus he separated from his master, who stood there waiting for him, with all the patience that he could summon.

For a couple of days, the Shadow of Sauron rode through the forest completely alone, always behind the trail of Carcharoth and always fearful of the spells of Melian.  
So far nothing seemed to block his way, but he couldn't ensure that the magic of the forest wasn't already working on him imperceptibly, losing him further and further into the thicket or making him retrace his steps.  
Nonetheless, he didn't get lost, and finally he reached the bank of the river Esgalduin.  
There the traces of Carcharoth were more recent, and the man guessed that he was already approaching the wolf, and therefore, the thieves.

Indeed, in the evening of the second day, besides the waterfall of the river, he found the beast.  
Or rather, what was left of it.  
Carcharoth lay on the floor with his neck torn, together with a huge dog that had also died, surely in the midst of a terrible battle with the wolf. The Shadow guessed that the dog must had been that Huan that his master hated so much.  
Standing next to the beasts were two Sindarin warriors, on the ground, a badly wounded man, and leaning over the man, a beautiful Elven king with silvery hair. In his features he discovered some similarities with the fair maiden who had danced before Melkor.  
Unfortunately, Lúthien wasn't there, and his hopes of seeing that face again, if only once more, vanished forever.  
But where was the stolen jewel?  
The Shadow stayed hidden behind some lush bushes, carefully observing the Sindar and waiting for something to happen.  
Then one of the warriors crouched beside the corpse of Carcharoth, and to his astonishment, he began to rip the belly of the monster. Even more astonishing, however, was what was inside: a hand pulled out by the roots, and inside the hand, the glowing, the tempting Silmaril.  
Everything made sense then, from the blood at the gates of Angband, to the erratic wanderings of the wolf and the one-armed man on the ground, who could be none other than Beren.  
The Elven warrior placed the Silmaril in the only good hand of the thief, and he, with strenght that already abandoned him, gave it to the king of the Sindar as he whispered something that the Shadow couldn't hear.  
The king shed tears of regret, but accepted the jewel.  
That was the right time to act.

And the Shadow of Sauron was about to cast the spell and snatch the Silmaril from them, when a sudden thought stopped him.  
He had just realized the power he had at that moment over the fate of the jewel, and therefore, of Melkor, and a deliciously perverse idea crept into his mind.  
Yes, of course, if he recovered the Silmaril he would have the gratitude and praise of his master, and the lieutenant would be happy about the successful accomplishment of the mission. But his happiness would be temporary, and rather for Melkor than for himself. Moreover, both he and his master Sauron would have many more opportunities to prove their worth and feel satisfied.  
On the other hand, if he didn't recover the Silmaril, Melkor would mourn his loss for all eternity.  
He would never again have a chance like that to do so much damage to the hateful Vala that mistreated him, that had disfigured him, that had ordered his lashing, and had made him many other things that he would rather not remember.  
The accursed Morgoth would get what was coming to him once and for all, and would cry every time he saw the empty hole in his crown.  
What better, what sweeter revenge than that?  
The black lips of the man twisted into a smirk; the decision was pretty clear.  
Turning around, he returned to the horse, and went away from the waterfall, as if he had never seen anything.

When he finally came back to his master and told him that he had found Carcharoth dead, but no trace of the Silmaril, the Shadow was afraid that the Maia would read between his lies. Therefore he pulled down his bone helmet as much as he could, and tried to hide his eyes.  
However, the lieutenant believed him. He knew of his unconditional loyalty, and also, it must be said, he shared the same prejudices about men with his lord Melkor, and thus believed him too stupid to deceive.  
The Shadow of Sauron wasn't proud of what he had done, and vowed that this would be the first and last time that he betrayed the trust of his master.  
That way, the iron crown lost one of his Silmarils forever.

Melkor was lying listlessly in bed when his lieutenant came into the bedroom to report the failure of the mission.  
The Vala didn't get angry upon hearing the story, since he had exhausted all his fury in the many damages of the fortress, and only sighed with resignation.  
It wasn't fair.  
The Silmarils were his, they had been created for him. Fëanor may have not been aware of this fact when he made them, but no doubt, he already had understood in the halls of Mandos that such a beautiful objects could only shine upon the greatest of the Valar.  
Besides, no one had suffered for those jewels as much as he, that felt their burn on his hand every day, and their weight on his head at every moment.  
No one had loved those jewels as much as he.  
And yes, it's true that he was the cause of the death of the two Trees, but wasn't the love he felt for their light, locked inside the crystals, enough to compensate for it?  
It wasn't fair that they did this to him now, after what Fingolfin did to him.  
Why couldn't they leave him in peace?

And despite everything, it was all a bit indifferent for Melkor.  
He felt tired, and weak, and weary. Now he just wanted to stay lying in bed and get consumed by the hatred for his enemies.  
Apparently, Sauron had perceived this gloomy mood, and knelt by the bedside to comfort him.  
Before the Vala had time to react, his lieutenant was already kissing his neck and caressing him without permission. Sometimes Melkor thought that everything was easier when the Maia simply reported, made a nod, and turned around.

-My Lord, don't worry any longer for that simple jewel. Thou art never more beautiful than when thou wearst not thy crown, than when thou liest in this same bed without wearing anything at all. Thou dost not need adornments. -whispered the lieutenant softly.

Melkor felt a pang of desire. He would have liked to open his arms to the Maia and let him crawl over him.  
But he was supposed to be angry. Thus he made a grimace of displeasure and turned his back to him.

-Stop taking advantage of me. I don't know if you are aware of how upset and hurt I'm with you, Sauron. When you bring my Silmaril, I'll let you caress me with your hands burned by it, but until then, keep your lustful intentions away from me.

-Of course, my Lord. -replied the lieutenant, with such a seriousness that no one would have guessed that he was intimating with him.

And he left the chamber with a route march, while Melkor was left lying there, cursing the thieves and his unsatisfied desire.

Sauron kept looking for the Silmaril during a long time, even though he knew that it had disappeared in Menegroth and was unrecoverable.  
Judging by the rumours he heard, not even the sons of Fëanor had managed to retrieve the jewel from Thingol. Gradually, even Melkor began to understand the irreversibility of the situation, and forgot the matter, and the wound healed eventually.

In large part, this drift in his attention was due to the news that started arriving from Ossiriand, where Gothmog and his Balrogs still hoped to find something.  
Everywhere there was talk of the tragic deaths of Beren and Lúthien, though there were those who claimed that, certain nights, and if one payed attention to the secret sounds of the glade, a song of indescribable beauty could be heard among the sighs of the wind. And all that heard it felt their blood freezing, since they had the impression that, somehow, the barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead was not completely sealed when that melody sounded.  
However, it wasn't those ghost stories what interested Melkor, but the news about the troops that the sons of Fëanor had gathered to march against Angband.  
To the so-called Union of Maedhros had joined even the dwarves from the Blue Mountains, that reclusive people that usually stayed apart from all matters of Beleriand. In addition, along with the threat from the East, came also a threat from the West, from Hithlum, where the heir of Fingolfin had established an alliance with the men of Dor-lómin and the forest of Brethil.  
It seemed that all the enemies of Melkor in Middle Earth had united at last to declare war on him, in the greatest battle that ever devastated the northern lands.  
And it was precisely this fact, this imminent danger, what finally pulled the Vala out of his apathy and gave him back all his vigour.  
The theft of the Silmaril was nothing but a dark episode of the past. Now he had to deal with more pressing matters.

In the summer morning when all the enemy troops marched in formation to the fortress, Melkor was in an exceptional mood.  
The previous night the stars of Valacirca had barely shone, which was a good sign, and the Vala felt with enough energy to organize the troops himself.  
That morning, not even the most frenzied activity could have exhausted him or reminded him of the pain in his leg.  
When Sauron entered the throne room, Melkor was giving some last minute instructions to a contingent of Balrogs. The lieutenant coughed discreetly to catch his attention, and the face of the Vala lit up upon seeing him there.

-Ah, Sauron, Sauron, my faithful lieutenant! Is it everything arranged for the battle?

-Everything is arranged, my Lord.

-What about the men from the East?

-Bought off to betray Maedhros.

-And what about Húrin and Huor?

-Ready to be captured and betray the hidden realm of Turgon.

Melkor smiled, and gestured for the Balrogs to go away. Then he approached the lieutenant and stood very close to him, with a flaming gaze.

-What would we do without the betrayal of men, eh, Sauron? One doesn't know whether it's a blessing or a curse... -he said, extending his hand. The lieutenant knelt and kissed it; the blood of the Vala throbbed due to the thrill of battle. Then he felt Melkor's fingers stroking his hair, and an arm urging him to stand up.- I sense, Sauron, that this is the beginning of a golden age for you and me.

And thus saying, the Vala encircled the neck of his lieutenant and pressed the lips against his, while the three peaks of Thangorodrim exploded in a cloud of toxic smoke, accepting the challenge.


	3. The Old Man at the Top of the Mountain

_`Is it dauntless Húrin,' quoth Delu-Morgoth,  
`stout steel-handed, who stands before me,  
a captive living as a coward might be?'_

-The Lay of the Children of Húrin: Prologue.

Across the charred plain of Anfauglith, the wind carried the sound of the Elven war trumpets. And yet, nothing moved on the horizon.  
On his iron throne, and dressed again in his armour, Melkor grinned. So far everything was going as planned: Maedhros was withheld because of the poisoned counsels of his Easterlings, and Fingon wouldn't attack until his cousin gave signs of being alive. Now it was his turn to pull that vermin out of his hiding.  
The first patrol of scouts that he had sent, returned then with the report of Fingon's forces. In the list of soldiers, one of them caught the attention of Melkor in particular: an Elf from Nargothrond, the only captain arrived from that kingdom, who went by the name of Gwindor. The crows claimed that this Elf had vowed to free his brother, one Gelmir, who was imprisoned in Angband since the end of the siege.

-It won't be necessary that he comes here to free him. I myself will give him to his beloved brother, I'll put him under his very nose. Although I don't know if he will like what he will see. -said Melkor, thoughtfully.

And with a snap of his fingers, he ordered his servants to bring him the aforementioned Gelmir.

The Elf was unrecognizable, and his eyes had been gouged out long time ago. At this point, turning him into one of his Orcs would have improved considerably his appearance.

-Show him to his brother. So he can see with his own eyes the torments of Angband that this wretch can't see anymore. Provoke him in any way that ye can think of, enrage him: him, Fingon and all his troops. I want them to attack as soon as possible and get out of the mountains, in the open field, where we can crush them better. Go now! -ordered the Vala.

The captain of the Orcs nodded, grabbed the poor Elf with brutality and took him out of the room, almost dragging him.  
Melkor leant back on his throne with self-satisfaction. Nothing could go wrong that glorious day, he sensed it.  
Down, in the underground furnaces, his lieutenant was taking care that the battalions of Orcs were well equipped and went out in ordered formations to the battle.  
Shortly thereafter, winged messengers began to bring him the first news about the onslaught of the Elves. Indeed, the sight of his brother had stirred up the spirit of Gwindor, and even more so when they had cut off the hands, feet and head of the unhappy before his astonished eyes. Fingon hadn't been able to hold back his soldiers, and they had rushed into battle recklessly, without waiting for reinforcements.  
Melkor laughed to himself. Inferior creatures were always equally predictable in their emotions. No wonder, since they had been created without any imagination, by an arrogant and narrow-minded Eru.  
The Vala saw no need to send more soldiers than the ones he had already sent.  
Although later he regretted this.

The hooves of the enemies' horses echoed through the deserted plain, and now the trumpets of the Noldor sounded much closer.  
Suspiciously closer.  
A tremor shook the gates of Angband and there was a loud racket on the upper floors. Could it be possible that the Elves, in a desperate suicide attack, had broken into the fortress ? Melkor scratched the scar of his cheek in disbelief. It wasn't possible, but...  
There was another tremor over his head, and now for real, the unmistakable sound of metal clashing with each other, of war cries, and of flesh ripping with a damp and dull noise.  
The Vala clenched his fist around the handle of his mace Grond, that lay beside his throne. Well, those foolish Elves may have entered Angband for a moment, but that would only mean their greatest undoing. He, meanwhile, would await them sitting quietly on his throne, and if one of them dared to get there, he would send him to Mandos with a single blow of his mace.  
A huge jolt shook the vaults, as if a giant iron object, perhaps a battering ram, had fallen to the floor above. A few small debris fell off the roof to his feet. The shouts of the Elves echoed almost next-door now, and seemed to descend to the throne room.  
Melkor reflected for a couple of seconds, and decided that it would be a good idea going down to the underground furnaces to supervise his lieutenant. That was his task, after all: lead the operations. Not staying there to fight the pathetic Noldor. That was the function of Orcs. And besides, he had to make sure that everything was going as planned. It was the most prudent thing, and prudence is not cowardice, of course...

When the Vala went down the spiral staircase as fast as his wounds allowed him, he came upon Sauron, that run up almost at the same speed. There was a clash between the two, and the lieutenant rolled down the stairs.

-My Lord, what is that turmoil up there? –asked the Maia, rubbing his aching head, and not hoping that Melkor showed concern for the harm he had caused.

-Mmmm... I think it's the Elves. They have entered Angband.

Sauron 's eyes opened wide.

-But what the... ? How is... ? How is it that they have come here!? The troops we sent were more than enough to contain them!

Melkor shrugged.

-I don't know, Sauron. Perhaps what we did to the brother of that Gwindor irritated them more than what was necessary. Things don't need to turn out always as planned. But that doesn't mean they will necessarily turn out bad.

A thunderous roar boomed through the upper gallery, and the noise of the skirmish went silent for a moment. Several thuds, like the footsteps of a giant, threatened to demolish the roof, and it could be heard some columns collapsing.

-Is Glaurung loose around the fortress? –asked Sauron, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

-Of course! Why would I want a dragon if I couldn't use him in my battles?

-I understand, my liege, but maybe let him run through the galleries is not the most appropr...

It wasn't worth continuing, because Melkor had already turned around and headed upstairs to see what had happened. The lieutenant shrugged and followed his lord.

The destruction caused by Glaurung was considerable, and several rooms had been ravaged by fire. However, the counter-attack had been effective, and the intruders had fled in disarray, pursued by hordes of Orcs that run after them without much order.  
A captain of the guard dragged the instigator of the uproar: the Elf Gwindor of Nargothrond, a creature with black and wiry hair, rather small, but quite quarrelsome. The Vala told the captain to bring the prisoner to the dungeons, and then made a gesture for his lieutenant to accompany him to the upper towers. From there they had a privileged view of the battlefield and all that happened. The tide of Orcs had devastated the ranks of the Noldor, and in the distance, the standard of Fingon waved farther and farther.  
Melkor sighed with satisfaction, but upon looking askance at his lieutenant, he discovered a shade of disapproval on his face.

-What is it, Sauron ? It looks as if you didn't cheer up because of our victory.

-It's not that, my Lord. Of course I 'm glad. What happens is that I think the counter-attack was made in a too chaotic way. There, for example, the Elves have left a flank exposed. If our troops had been divided, they could have enclosed them with a pincer movement and...

Melkor interrupted him raising his hand, and shook his head condescendingly.

-Sauron, sometimes being in control doesn't mean having all under control. There are invisible forces in this world, underground currents of power. If you would stop analyzing everything for a second, perhaps you would perceive them as well. Perhaps you would even dominate them in part some day, as I do. Look there. -and the Vala pointed to the black mass of the Angband soldiers, flowing among the silver armour of the Noldor, sometimes pushing them and sometimes retreating.- Does it seem a chaotic movement for you? What you call "chaos" is nothing but an order difficult to understand. Right now our troops are being directed by the same inertia that directs the lava of a volcano, always downhill, stopping at nothing. Do not worry, this is a won war. I know it, I can feel it in my blood. From now onwards fate will be on my side, because it's inevitable. And my fate is having Arda in the palm of my hand. You will see.

After that Melkor fell silent, absorbed in the battle, and Sauron didn't know what to say.

During the following days the lieutenant witnessed, indeed, the uncontested victory of Angband over the kingdoms of Elves and men. Everything seemed orchestrated as a perfect, though incomprehensible dance. And the Maia wondered how it was possible that his lord Melkor directed the war in such a disastrous way sometimes, as during the siege of Angband, and other times however, he did it so subtly.  
Maybe his problem was trying to explain to himself the nature of the Vala. Maybe his nature was precisely that: being inexplicable.

Only in the morning of the sixth day, things seemed to go awry. As emerging out of nowhere, Turgon's army came to the aid of his battered brother. And Maedhros appeared in the rear as well.  
Melkor became visibly upset when he saw the king of that phantom city that didn't show on any map. Turgon was a shadow that had plagued him for centuries. Even in Valinor, his direct gaze had disgusted him.  
Driven by rage, he ordered all the creatures of Angband going to meet the hateful enemy, and a black cloud eclipsed the sun for a moment: Orcs, Balrogs, dragons, vampires, werewolves, wraiths, and creatures of nightmare that hadn't abandoned the underground pits for millennia. They advanced towards the Noldor, fused into a single amorphous body full of extremities.  
Only the lieutenant stayed beside the Vala, in the towers, and the fortress had sunk into a strange silence.

-My Lord, shouldn't I go out too? The dragons' squadron needs a more capable leadership than that of the Orcs. –said Sauron, somewhat impatient.

But Melkor shook his head.

-Right now your place is here with me. For once in your life, Sauron, relax and do nothing. Everything will be fine.

On the horizon, once again, the tiny figures engaged in confusing hand to hand combats, and in all those collisions, in all those comings and goings, the black tide of Angband kept gaining ground.  
First the Easterlings who had joined forces with Maedhros, betrayed him and his brothers, and fled at the gallop after attacking them from behind. The sons of Fëanor suddenly found themselves helpless, with their troops decimated, and they dispersed as miserable vagabonds; kings without kingdom or vassals.  
Later the dragons charged at the dwarves and Glaurung killed their king. After which, the petty creatures withdrew, not caring anymore for the fate of Beleriand.  
And finally, Gothmog and his company of Balrogs headed west, to crush the last forces of Fingon, and if possible, to capture his evasive brother.  
Sauron bit his lip in frustration, seeing how his rival was about to get all the glory for himself, and insisted one more time that Melkor let him go into battle. But the Vala held him back again, with an enigmatic smile. His black eyes betrayed an iron will, stronger than any that the Maia could remember, and he knew instantly that resisting would be useless.  
In the evening of the sixth day, the glorious battle, the one that would be later known as that of the "Unnumbered Tears", came to an end. In the plain of Anfauglith ensued absolute silence, and a a mound was erected with the bodies of Elves and men, as a mocking reminder of who was the victor.

That night, in the spacious halls of Angband, even the last of the Orcs celebrated the triumph in the midst of revelry and festivity. The most valuable prisoners were taken to their cells, and the least important served as meal in a sumptuous feast, or as intimate entertainment for the troops. From the cellars were brought numerous barrels of wine and beer, and everybody drank and ate without measure, toasting on behalf of his lord Melkor. He sat on his throne to preside over the celebrations, laughing exultant with each bravado of his soldiers. And each one of his laughters was accompanied by an explosion of Thangorodrim, that tinted the sky with orange and scarlet, so all the enemies could see that in Angband the joy was as great as deep was their sorrow.  
Only the black figure of the lieutenant stayed a little apart and indifferent to the general excitement. Sitting to the right of the Vala, Sauron limited himself to taking small sips of wine and smiling slightly every time an Orc fell to the floor drunk. Meanwhile, his eye of fire swept the room without losing detail, waiting for a particular person.  
Finally, he made an appearance. Gothmog and his Balrogs, which had been delayed in the West, broke into the room by opening the doors wide and roared victorious. The soldiers opened a corridor to let them pass, and the newcomers moved towards the throne among acclamations and praise.

-I bring thee two gifts, my Lord. –announced Gothmog, bowing to him.- One is this.

And the Balrog threw down a head with long black braids, which rolled to the feet of the Vala, leaving behind a trail of blood on the stone slabs.  
It was the head of Fingon.  
Melkor licked his lips, with the same satisfaction with which a maiden would receive a bouquet of flowers from a suitor.

-The other gift is this. -continued Gothmog, and among the huge bodies of his guard, he brought forward a sturdy man of sullen appearance. He was still young, and his disheveled hair and beard, and his fierce gaze, gave him a look of bear quite fearsome.

-Is this... ?

-Yes, my Lord, he's Húrin. The man that thou seekedst.

-Oh! -Melkor couldn't help a sigh of joy escaping from his lips.

Now that the sons of Fëanor had lost everything, and the kingdom of Hithlum had been given to the Easterlings, only the accursed Turgon was left to torment him. Anyway, thanks to that man he was a little closer to discover once and for all that elusive realm. The Vala could barely contain his excitement, and poured another glass of wine to calm down.

-Take him to the dungeons, to an isolation cell. Make sure that he lacks nothing.

The man just let out a guttural growl as they drove him to his new home. He didn't seem very eloquent, indeed, and Sauron guessed right away that he would be a tough nut to crack during interrogation.  
Meanwhile, Gothmog kept looking at him askance, waiting for the right moment to rub his triumph over his face. However, the Balrog must have been in a too good mood, or maybe the glass eye showed a colder than usual gleam, because in the end he chose to not say anything and have the party in peace.  
The lieutenant forgot about him for the moment, and glanced at his human servant. He had managed to stay for the entire battle in a comfortable supply position in the rear, and during the feast had drunk until vomiting. Now he was getting affectionate, and groped a prisoner Noldo and a man, that didn't seem very participative. After a while he left the hall toward his chamber, arm in arm with a pair of Orcs no less intoxicated than he.  
Melkor also rose from his throne, and with a discreet gesture of the head told his lieutenant to follow him. Both entered the bedroom of the Vala, and Sauron closed the door behind him.

-You look very distant tonight. Is there something wrong? –asked Melkor, with half a smirk.

The Maia looked down, a little dejected.

-My Lord, I'm really glad of thy overwhelming victory over thy enemies. The war couldn't have been more favourable than this. But I can't help feeling... dissatisfied.

-How is it dissatisfied?

-I don't know how to explain it... I haven't participated in this battle, the most important one that we have fought so far. I haven't been useful to thee, and that mortifies me. Why didst thou not let me fight?

Melkor laughed softly at the hurt tone of the Maia.

-But Sauron, I already know that you always serve me well in war. What I wanted to know, was if you would be as loyal not doing anything. If you would be able to swallow your pride and stay under my shadow while others get all the glory.

\- Thou art very cruel.

-Of course I am. But not with you. I have many pawns in this game, and I will sacrifice them all before the end comes, if necessary. But you, Sauron, you are not a pawn. You are my queen. You I will reserve until the last day, and you will be the last to fall.

The lieutenant frowned in annoyance.

-I don't know if I should take it as a compliment that thou considerst me thy "queen".

Melkor let out a good-humoured laughter.

-Stop complaining, you foolish Maia! And come here. -saying this, Melkor undid the clasp that his robe had over the shoulder, and the fabric fell to his ankles.

Under the light of the candles his white skin acquired a golden glow, crossed here and there with the crimson lines of the scars.  
Sauron followed with his eyes the pattern laid on the body of his master by the sword of Fingolfin. A line run down his left shoulder. Another wider and deeper groove went across his chest and passed within inches of one of the nipples. The third scar snaked along his hip bone. Another one had left a small but deep mark in the right thigh, followed further down by a narrow scar on the knee. The sixth wound climbed up the other leg, from the calf to the groin. The seventh, finally, began under his navel, descended through his abdomen, and ended sinking into the dark hair of his pubis, among which the pale line still showed occasionally.  
Sauron thought that no path ever traced was worth being followed, more than the one traced by the sword in that last scar. And maybe the wounds caused pain to the Vala, but he couldn't pity him at the time. He could only desire him.

Sauron pounced on his lord, and both rolled on the bed in a confusion of members and tongues, while the lieutenant's clothes were also torn from his body one by one.  
Melkor writhed in pleasure. Every caress and every kiss seemed to have intensified a thousand times, not sure if because of the wine, or of the prolonged loneliness, or even because of his ripped skin.  
Only when he tried to open himself to receive the Maia, he realized that something was wrong. A sharp pain went through his groin, and with a moan of obvious suffering, he closed his legs again. The Vala understood then that from that moment on, pleasure should always be inextricably linked to some pain. In due time, this would help him to be more patient, and even to understand better the duality that everything encloses in its nature. But in that occasion he felt awful.  
Sauron had to try different positions until finding one in which Melkor was comfortable, and even then he was forced to proceed with much more delicacy than usual. The lieutenant would have liked to make love to his lord in a brutal way, but unfortunately, that was over. The new pleasure that they discovered, however, was less exciting and violent, but also more subtle and deeper. In a way, more satisfying.

Upon finishing, the lieutenant put his arms around the ribs of the Vala, that still moved up and down at high speed, and pressed his face against his throat.

-My Lord, could I ask thee a question?

-Mmmm... -murmured the Vala. Sauron took this as a yes.

-Why hast thou never tried to penetrate me?

Melkor separated a little and looked at him surprised, as if he had said the greatest nonsense in the world.

-But Sauron, I am the master! It's supposed that you are the one that desires me. Not that I'm the one that desires you.

The Maia chuckled against the skin of his lord.

-I don't quite understand thy logic, really. But think that in this way it would be less painful for thee to make love. Also, my Lord, why limit thyself like that? The feminine sex may be doomed to eternal passivity, and only can get to know half of the pleasure. But thou needst not to resign.

Melkor narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

-I see what you intend, Sauron. You are jealous of me, and crave what I have. Very sly. But whatever, if you want it so much, I'll take you later. Tomorrow. Although I doubt that you have that secret spot that I have there...

The Vala yawned and intertwined with his lieutenant to sleep.  
Sauron wasn't much hopeful: for Melkor, "tomorrow" usually meant "never".

Effectively, the next morning the Vala's lust had been quenched for the moment, and the first thing he thought about upon awakening, was the interesting prisoner that he had in the isolation cell.

Húrin was dozing on a rough chair, with his hands tied behind his back, and the mats of fair hair that fell over his face completely concealed his visage. An Orc threw a bucket of water to wake him. He opened his eyes, confused, and saw a tall and dark figure in front of him, blocking the light that poured from the open door of the cell.  
The Orc went out to leave his master alone with the man.

-Húrin Thalion, at last we meet. I suppose that you will have heard many things about me.

-None of them good. -replied the man with grimness.

Melkor smiled, and began to walk around him, to observe him better.

-I, however, have heard great things about you. The Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin, the greatest warrior of the Edain, able to face alone entire hordes of Orcs with his axe. You killed seventy trolls, isn't it?

-I've killed so many trolls, that I no longer keep track.

-And I've also heard that you are a good friend of Turgon... - the Vala was now behind the man and put his hands on his shoulders. Húrin felt a small shiver when the mouth of his enemy approached his ear to whisper:- In my army is a place for anyone who desires it, and especially for the brave warriors like you. You are not the first man that Melkor, the Mighty Arising, offers the privilege of serving him. Nor will you be the last. I can turn you into one of my main captains, at the height of my Maiar only. Why settle for a pathetic kingdom between the mountains, when all Beleriand could tremble under your axe and your countless troops? And I only ask you one thing in return, that you tell me a little secret...

Húrin squirmed uneasy, and tried in vain to untie the ropes of his wrists. The breath and touch of the Vala's hands had begun to produce a glacial cold that run down his arms and chest.  
Then, the prisoner realized that there was a third person in the cell, leaning against the wall of a darkened corner. He was fiddling with something metallic in his hands, and occasionally, a glassy gleam appeared where his eyes should have been.

-I have no secret to tell you. -snapped the man, once recovered from the shock.- The secrets of Turgon, he should tell you in person. If he wants.

Melkor rose and stood before him. The brightness of the Silmarils so close to his face, forced Húrin to squint.

-Perhaps I haven't made the right offer. Perhaps it's not soldiers and glory what you want. Maybe it's something much more mundane. Jewels and riches, are not they? Men adore them almost as much as dwarves. I can give them all to you. -and with a wave of the hand, the Vala made appear before the eyes of Húrin a ghostly vision of a necklace full of diamonds, rubies and emeralds. Then the vision vanished, and in its place appeared the image of a beautiful woman.- Or is this what you want?

Húrin spat on the ground. Melkor's smile faded from his face at once, and then rose over the man as an ominous tower.

-I have offered you power, wealth and women. The three things that men desire the most. The next thing I'm going to offer you is more pain than you can imagine. Unless you improve your attitude and tell me at last everything you know about Turgon's kingdom. What do you say to that? –the voice of the Vala boomed in the cell with the power of thunder, but Húrin looked up quietly and replied:

-No.

Melkor's eyes blazed with flames of anger.

-Then suffer, Húrin Thalion! But don't bear a grudge. It wasn't me who wanted it this way. -and turning toward the figure in the shadows, he made a signal:- Take care of this foolish worm! Maybe after softening him a little, he will be more eloquent.

And the Vala left the cell, slamming the door. The steps of some boots echoed in the bare stone, and the lieutenant of Angband came to light in front of Húrin.  
A sadistic smile hinted at the corners of his pale lips.

-You and I, my friend, are going to have a great time. -he said with a soft voice, and tensed the iron scourge with which he had been playing until then.

The cries of the man reached the ears of Melkor despite the thick cell walls, but they were only that: cries of pain. Not a single word escaped his lips.  
So passed one week. At the end of it, the lieutenant came to his lord with clear frustration on his face.

-Nothing?

-Nothing, my Lord. He's the most stubborn and obstinate piece of flesh I've ever seen.

-You are not being tough enough with him then.

-My Lord, I've reached with him the level five of the interrogation. NOBODY endures to level five.

Melkor nodded, thoughtfully. And a dark thought shone in his mind at that instant.

-That man, sooner or later, one way or another, will end up revealing me the location of the kingdom of Turgon. That's for sure. But perhaps we should wait a little longer and let time wreak its havoc on the mortal. For now, I've come up with a way to make the wait more enjoyable.

The Vala headed to the cell of Húrin with sudden energy, followed a few steps behind by his distraught lieutenant.  
The prisoner had a terrible aspect, but not even so had disappeared the fierceness of his blue eyes.

-Húrin Thalion. You have despised the signs of my generosity and have foolishly endured the signs of my hate. Now, because of your folly, not only you will suffer, but also your whole family. You have already lost your brother and I assure you, Húrin, that you will still lose a lot more, before death has mercy on you and brings you to your loved ones. -sentenced Melkor.

Then the Vala drew a dagger from the belt of his robe, and unleashing one of the man's hands, he made a deep cut on the palm. Thereafter, he made a cut on his own hand as well, and joining it with that of the prisoner he let the blood of both wounds mix together.  
Húrin hissed in anguish; Melkor's blood burned him like acid, and even gave off abrasive vapours. Among the tears that began to accumulate in his eye, he saw a demonic gaze, and the words that the Vala pronounced then oppressed his heart as an ice claw:

-Your blood is mine now, and with it the fate of your family. My blood is yours now, and with it a terrible curse has entered you. Accursed be you and all your lineage!

Melkor separated his hand, and Húrin saw stunned how the wound closed by itself, seared by intangible forces. The cell had plunged into unnatural darkness, and even the lieutenant shuddered a little due to the sudden cold of the room. Then the Vala touched the man's eyes with fingers still stained with black blood and sentenced:

-Your eyes are left open from now onwards. That everything I see, you will see as well. -then he put his hands on either side of the prisoner's head.- Your ears are left open from now onwards. Everything I hear, you will hear as well. -finally, Melkor covered the mouth of Húrin with his left hand.- Your mouth instead is left sealed. You shall ask for help, and no one will answer to your call in the desert.

The Vala stepped back and contemplated his work. The man seemed confused and miserable, but determination hadn't waned the least in him.  
Melkor felt annoyed, and untying him, he lifted him from the chair roughly and dragged him to the upper floors, followed closely by a fascinated Sauron. That was one of those times when the power of Melkor emanated from his body with special intensity, one of those times when the fate of Arda intertwined with the fate of the Vala inevitably. And on those occasions the lieutenant could not help feeling a sort of magnetic attraction to his lord, mixed with fear, respect and lust.  
Melkor brought Húrin to a steep cliff on the side of Thangorodrim, and there, raising his arm, made a stone chair emerge from the hard rock. He seated the man on it with a shove. And though he tried to get up, his wrists and ankles were tied to the seat with the invisible bonds of sorcery.

-Don't let them say of me that I'm a bad host. Since you will spend much time in Angband, my dear Húrin, at least you can do it comfortably seated and under the stars. -said the Vala with a laughter, and returned to the fortress with his lieutenant still stuck behind.

Húrin was left completely alone on the summit of the mountain, and glanced at the black and lifeless plains that surrounded him. In all this time, not a single word had escaped his lips.

The years that followed were very sweet for the hosts of Angband and their lord. With all their enemies sunk in misery, they had nothing else to do but enjoy the good times, thrive and multiply all over Beleriand. It was true that Turgon had not been discovered, and that Doriath and Nargothrond still resisted. But at the moment none of these kingdoms meant an immediate threat. Thus, while the Noldor took up arms again, Melkor found an endless source of entertainment in the misadventures of the son of Húrin.  
With his own eyes he contemplated the childhood years spent by the young Túrin in the court of Thingol, and his fall from grace due to a stupid dispute. The Vala took delight in the forced exile of the man, and how he transformed slowly into an outlaw, into a wild animal outside civilization. Of course, this was only funny because he knew that his father could see it as well.  
The curse that the Vala had introduced in his blood, allowed him to have some control over the events surrounding the young man, but he couldn't control the impulses of his heart. Also, Melkor and Húrin had an exact knowledge of the state of mind of the subject, of his pain and loneliness, but the place and the exact circumstances in which was Túrin, were not always visible. If anything, this served to further unsettle his downcast father.

For his part, Sauron missed the heat of battle, and often provoked Gothmog for no good reason, just to start a fight. Deep inside, the Balrog was grateful for these impertinences and any excuse was good to catch his fire whip. Both were warriors and captains, and times of peace depressed them.  
Regarding his most private affairs, the lieutenant couldn't complain too much, because in all that time he had no major argument with his lord. However, he sometimes found the Vala puzzling and annoying.  
On occasions, Melkor wanted nothing from him and ignored any advance made by the Maia. But other times he seemed to ignite with a violent lust (usually when the lieutenant was busier) and forced him to satisfy him at every hour, or for entire days. To the extent that Sauron couldn't perform his daily tasks. Also, he had to endure later the knowing looks and chuckles of the Orcs, whenever they saw him return with a clear flush on his face. On those occasions, getting angry and lashing them only served to increase the teasing.  
At the end, Sauron started thinking that Melkor did all this on purpose, out of pure sadism. In the same way that he seemed to enjoy immensely if he climaxed several times in a row, and his lieutenant on the other hand didn't do it a single time. At this, the Maia could do nothing but shrug and fill with patience. It was so typical of Melkor to take something beautiful and innocent, like the physical act of love, and turn it into a weapon. That was his nature, after all.

Nonetheless, the lieutenant soon didn't have to worry about the exhausting desires of his lord, for he plunged into one of his long periods of apathy. Sauron guessed it had something to do with that puppet of his, that Túrin. The Vala regretted the decision he had made of capturing the outlaw and dragging him to Angband, since he feared that this would end his fun.

-I should have put to other use that filthy dwarf that lived with the outlaws. Instead of convincing him to betray his partners, I should have asked him to take them to Nargothrond. That disgusting creature has been in that realm, I know it from the conversations he had with Túrin. And if my human plaything had arrived there, my eyes would have arrived there too in the end. And another realm of the Noldor would have fallen! Now I've lost sight of that stupid dwarf. Such a wasted opportunity! -complained the Vala, sprawled on the throne in a foul mood, before the patient look of his lieutenant.- All this is your fault, Sauron!

The Maia opened his eyes, disguising his resignation with surprise.

\- Mine, my Lord?

-Yes, yours, for not having foreseen this and not having advised me!

-Thou art right, my Lord. Let me advise thee now then. If I remember correctly, we have in Angband a special prisoner: a certain Gwindor of Nargothrond. Maybe it's time to, I don't know, put another pawn in game. I'm not sure if thou understandest... -Melkor replied to the half smile of Sauron with a malicious sparking of his eyes.  
He had understood everything perfectly.

A little later that day, the supervisors who flogged the slaves in the underground mines stopped their whips, shocked, when they saw their lord visiting the galleries. Melkor never went down there due to the dirt, dust and stench of sweat and blood. But this time he strolled along the mines calm and smiling, despite how uncomfortable for him was limping through that stony ground. With a gesture he told the slavemasters to continue with their work, and he approached the Elf Gwindor. He was as filthy and emaciated as the others, and his courageous spirit had faded away long time ago through blows of whips and picks. Now the single noteworthy thing of his cadaverous face were the two big gray eyes that watched here and there all the time, always fearful. The Vala asked the supervisor of the Elf to let them alone for a moment, and ordered the Noldo to leave his pick and hammer and follow him.

-Ah Gwindor ,Gwindor! You I was looking for. Let's take a walk through this charming place, will you not? I have to talk with you about a certain subject...

The Elf shook with shyness, and tried to stay behind, but the fingers of Melkor rested on his shoulder and pushed him gently, but inexorably, against him.

-What dost thou want to talk about? I have nothing to say, I'm just a brutalized slave. I don't know anything anymore.

Melkor chuckled.

-No my dear Gwindor, you don't have to tell me anything. It's me who is going to speak. In fact, I'm going to suggest you one thing: to stop working in the mines.

Gwindor felt his stomach clenching upon hearing this. To stop working in the mines could only mean that he was no longer needed in Angband. In the early days he had been tortured to reveal the location of Nargothrond, but never confessed. And at that point no one believed anymore that he could endure another interrogation. Nor was it possible that they wanted him as bedroom toy for some captain; only the beautiful and freshly caught Elves were intended for that purpose, not the slaves already used by hundreds of Orcs. Thus, all that remained was that they turned him into food for wolves and dragons.  
Understanding this, Gwindor began to sob quietly.

-But Gwindor! Why are you crying? -asked Melkor with false compassion, standing in front of him.

-I... I... Lord Melkor, I no longer expect anything from life. But still... I find very painful the idea of dying.

-Dying!? Who said you are going to die? I'm going to set you free.

The Noldo looked up with watery and perplexed eyes, not believing what he had just heard. If Morgoth the Black Enemy set prisoners free without further ado, then he must have been dreaming.

-Yes, let me explain. -continued Melkor, leading him to a gallery apart from the rest, where no one was working.- I'll let you free to go back home in Nargothrond, dear Gwindor. But on one condition: that you take with you this unfortunate man.

Then Melkor showed him a vision of Túrin chained by a patrol of Orcs, who pushed and dragged him on the ground with cruelty. The Elf frowned skeptically.

-Dost thou want that I free a man whom thy own Orcs have captured and that I bring him to Nargothrond, to safety?

-Exactly.

-I'm sorry to say this, Lord Melkor, but it sounds as a trap. How do I know that this man is not evil? How can I trust thee?

-You cannot, Gwindor. You will have to accept that uncertainty if you want me to release you. It's not to your trust in me to what I appeal, but to your selfishness. No doubt you have left many loved things in Nargothrond, and you want to recover them, don't you? Family, friends, a maiden... –upon saying the latter, the Elf's eyes suddenly lit up, and Melkor could read his mind without difficulty.- That is, a maiden, isn't it? She is what you desire the most, right, Gwindor?

The Vala extended the palm of his hand, and over it materialized the image of the Elven maiden that he had seen in the thoughts of Gwindor. She span around, dancing in circles, while her golden hair flew behind her like a long veil. And every time her eyes met those of the prisoner, she gave him a sweet smile full of promises of love.

-Finduilas... - murmured the Elf, as if hypnotized. Melkor dissolved the vision and snapped him out of his stupor.

-So that's her name: Finduilas. She's a charming creature, Gwindor, and she certainly loves you. Only a stupid would prefer to stay here, picking rocks until his hands bleed, and suffering the lustful gropes of Orcs, when he could be under a willow tree, at the bank of a pristine brook with such a beauty. But you are not a stupid, right, Gwindor?

At that moment, a terrible struggle unfolded in the heart of the Elf. A struggle between common sense and desire. It was true that the Vala must be up to something sinister, but on the other hand, he wasn't asking him anything evil in itself. He didn't ask him to betray his king, or to kill someone. He only asked him to help a poor man, a poor man of honest and courageous look. And hadn't he suffered enough already? Didn't he deserve it, he and his beloved Finduilas? He was tired. Determination is for the young, not for the unfortunate and weak slaves.

-How can I release that man? -said at last the Noldo. A wide smile graced the lips of Melkor, and he tapped him on the shoulder affectionately.

-Don't worry, my dear Gwindor. Just wait for the patrol of Orcs in Taur-nu-Fuin. That man has a faithful friend, a great archer, that no doubt will be searching for him and will help you. And if he doesn't, it doesn't matter either because I'll take care. I don't mind losing a few Orcs, I have lots of them. You will escape tonight without anyone knowing. I don't want to spread the word about our secret deal. One never knows where there might be spies, isn't it, Gwindor ?

-And how can I flee?

-Well, let's say that in Angband, sometimes mysterious galleries open... -the Vala put his hand on a wall, and when he removed it, the solid rock had become a tunnel.-...And then they close again. -when the Elf looked again at the wall, there was no sign of any opening, as if all had been a mirage.

Thus closed the strange agreement, Gwindor got ready to return to his work. Before he disappeared through one of the galleries, the Vala gave him a final warning:

-Ah, Gwindor! Do not think for a moment that you can cheat me. If you don't fulfill your part, I'll cast on you the Spell of Bottomless Dread. Sure you have heard stories about it from the other slaves, haven't you?

The Elf nodded, with a shiver, and ran back to his pick and hammer.

Indeed, Gwindor accomplished his task and helped Túrin to Nargothrond. The fact that during the rescue, the man killed his friend because of a foolish misunderstanding, was a delightful addition to the drama that Melkor weaved around his fate. And even more fun was the irony that the beautiful Finduilas, the main reason why the Noldo agreed to bring Túrin along, ended up falling in love with this man precisely.  
Meanwhile, the first vague notions about the location of Nargothrond started reaching the mind of Melkor. The spies were each day closer to find the guarded kingdom. And finally, when Túrin was proclaimed captain among the Noldor, and casting aside all caution, openly challenged Angband under a new name, Nargothrond was doomed.

The time to take action had come, and in that time Glaurung was, as usual, in the lower caverns near the furnaces. An Orc who had managed to elude his responsibilities and break into the beer cellar, was getting drunk at his side, keeping him company, or rather, annoying him.

-Hey, Glaurung, listen. I have a question that keeps me awake. It's very important, and I think that only you can help me. -hiccuped the Orc between drinks.- What smells worse: the gas of a troll with intestinal problems, or your breath?

The Orc broke into coarse laughters, as the dragon snorted in disgust.

-Why don't we check it, will you? -growled the beast, throwing a cloud of smoke and sulfur in his face.

The Orc choked among coughs and curses, and the Shadow of Sauron, that up until then had been dozing against the belly of the dragon and wrapped in his tail, squirmed.

-Shut up, stupid, both of ye smell worse than anything that came out of a troll! -he complained.

Glaurung turned with a mischievous glint in his eyes to the little creature, who was still trying to get some sleep.

-Oh, forgive us! Not all of us have a master who gives us perfumes to smell nice, and precious jewels to be pretty. By the way... you should share some with your friends and not be so selfish. -and saying this, the dragon curled the tip of his tail around the ankle of the man and put him upside down, shaking him in the air to make a few gems and rings fall.

-Let go of me, damn you! Those things are mine! Ye two will pay for it when this is over, ye will be spitting teeth for a month! -shrieked the man, without enough hands to keep his helmet in place, hold his jewels and avoid the robe going up to his head, all at the same time.

The Orc was writhing on the floor with laughter, still hiccupping, and meanwhile Glaurung collected some of the gems to observe them with greedy fascination.

-What 's all this racket!? Stop acting like idiots right now! -roared a familiar voice.

The three froze on the spot, and Glaurung released his victim, who fell to the ground with a thud.  
The lieutenant was standing at the entrance of the cavern, with his arms crossed and a very unfriendly face. His eye of fire fell first on the Orc, who tried to hide the stolen beer.

-Why are you here lazing around, instead of in your post, forging swords!? A new battle is approaching and I don't want to see anyone idle! -the crack of the black whip on his backside, soon convinced the Orc to go back to work and stop drinking.- As for you, Glaurung, let alone those jewels that don't belong to you, and prepare for war. In Nargothrond you will find many more treasures than those. I guarantee you.

With the arrival of autumn, the forests near the Narog had been coated with the ocher and red of dry leaves. However, when the assault and plunder of the kingdom ended, there were only black and twisted trunks, and a thick layer of ash choking the earth.  
It had all happened very suddenly, and the Elves hadn't even time to destroy the bridge that, with so much folly, they had built over the river. It was an easy victory.  
And it was also then when Sauron learned that the king of Nargothrond, in the absence of Finrod, was none other than his old acquaintance Orodreth.

"More affectionate than his brother, no doubt, but with a rather empty head." -said the lieutenant to himself with a sneer.

Anyway, it didn't matter anymore, because he was dead now. And Gwindor was dead. And the beautiful Finduilas was on her way to death. As for Túrin, he was lost under the inclement weather, searching for his mother and sister in all the wrong places.  
There was just one problem: Glaurung refused to return. The desire for wealth had put ahead of his loyalty for Melkor, and he lay on a huge pile of treasure deep in the caves of Nargothrond.  
Melkor became furious as he considered, rightly, that those jewels should belong to him. He sent many messengers, demanding of Glaurung that he surrendered the treasures and returned immediately. But the dragon killed them all and kept challenging the wrath of the Vala.  
Then Sauron calmed his lord, and advised him to wait a little longer, since perhaps the role of Glaurung hadn't finished yet in that story.

So passed winter, and spring arrived in a state of false calm that, just as the eye of the storm, only heralded new misfortunes for the enemies of Angband.  
One day in which Sauron was heading to one of the upper towers, he discovered Melkor doing something unusual. He was sitting in front of a square board, and on it he had placed several wooden figures. One of them, similar to an archer, was tossed aside as if he had died. There was also a dragon that looked like Glaurung. And in the center, alone, there was a man with a strange helmet and a black sword. The Vala looked at the board with a frown, as if he was concentrating deeply.

-What dost thou do, my Lord?

Melkor looked up, a bit startled.

-Ah, it's you, Sauron! I don't like this tower, one never hears anyone approaching. Regarding this board, I'm playing a game with a certain man. You already know who. -and he refocused his attention on the figures.

The more distant was the Vala, the more attractive his lieutenant found him, and standing in front of him, watched him a while with fascination.

-Couldst thou explain what happens now in the game, my Lord? Unlike thee, I'm not acquainted with the whole story.

-This is what happens: Túrin is living with the men of Brethil, under a new name. That individual changes his name more often than an Orc changes his clothes. He thinks that this way he will escape his fate... Well, on the other hand, here I have his sister, whom Túrin never got to know. -the Vala placed another wooden figure in the center; this with the shape of a maiden.- The very stupid went near Glaurung's lair, and now lives without memory or past, wandering through the woods like a wild animal due to the spell of the dragon. But I don't know what to do next, Sauron. I don't know how to torment that man still further.

-Hmm... How about this, my Lord ? -and with a expression of malice, the lieutenant pushed the figure of Túrin against that of his sister, and it looked as if both were kissing.

Melkor rolled his eyes.

-Don't be foolish, Sauron! You know very well that neither Elves nor men join their blood relatives. They have absurd laws about it, not as we the Ainur. Thus, that will never happen.

-But my Lord, didst thou not just say that they never met and the girl doesn't remember anything? If they don't recognize their faces, and she doesn't remember her name or that of her brother...

Melkor opened his mouth to reply, but in the end he said nothing, and looked at his lieutenant in surprise. The fang of the Maia showed in a perverse and crooked smile.

-Sauron, you are a very, very twisted being. -he said, licking his lips.

The lieutenant recognized the signal at once: that flame dancing in the black iris of his lord, that slight blush on his cheeks, that wave of heat emitted by his body.  
Without saying a word, he jumped on the Vala, and right there on the floor they locked in a passionate struggle, with little regard for the wounds left by Fingolfin. To the extent that, at some point, Melkor struck his head against one of the legs of the table and all the figures of the board moved. Sauron wanted his lord to fulfill the promise he made after the battle of Unnumbered Tears, and managed to move beneath and offer himself in a vulnerable position. But the Vala didn't get the innuendo, or didn't want to, and instead he sat on him.  
When the last throes of pleasure died in the throat of both, Melkor looked toward the entrance of the tower, and made a gesture at his lieutenant.

-Look who's there. Do you want to join us or what? -he laughed, addressing the Shadow of Sauron, who was standing in the doorway and watched the scene with eyes wide open and great trepidation on his face.

The lieutenant turned around, still trembling and panting, and frowned when he saw his servant.

-May I know what are you doing there like stunned!? And how long have you been watching us without saying anything?

The man became so nervous, that he almost threw the bowls of food he carried in his hands, and was barely able to form a whole sentence:

-I... I... master... I... I was bringing Húrin his daily ration. This... this is the shortest way up to Thangorodrim.

It was true that the human had been entrusted with the task of feeding the prisoner, but still Sauron was upset. Unlike Melkor, that found the situation quite funny.

-Get out now, will you?! -growled the lieutenant, and the man run off as if his life was at stake.

The Vala stood up then, got dressed again, and glanced at the board, where all the pieces had fallen in disorder.

-Look what you have done, Sauron! -he protested, as he put the figures into place.

At that moment he realized that the figure of Túrin and Glaurung had fallen very close to each other, as if they had died in combat. An idea began to take shape in the mind of Melkor, although he didn't say anything about it yet.

Meanwhile, the human servant of Sauron kept climbing the painful steps that led to the top of Thangorodrim, prey to a confused state of mind. He couldn't stop thinking about what he had just seen, and this caused him an itch between his legs, and deep anger, and melancholy as well. Every time he felt worse, and when he reached the chair of Húrin, his mood was gloomy to say the least.  
In addition, that prisoner had always made him shudder. His stare was lost in the void, as if he fixed his attention on things that happened many miles away, and never said a word. He was no longer a young man, and his long and tangled hair, and his unkept beard, had turned gray over the years. However, he didn't seem to have lost his former vigour yet, so the Shadow was afraid of him and tried not to get too close when he brought his food. He always imagined what would happen if, suddenly, the spell that kept Húrin tied up would get undone, and he attacked him. Surely he could strangle him in a moment. Because of this aversion, and the prisoner's silence, the man never tried to talk with him.  
But on that occasion, he needed someone to vent his rage.

-Look at you! Húrin Thalion, the brave warrior, is nothing more than a useless old man now. –he mocked him, trying to hide his fear with a dismissive gesture.- The life of men is so ephemeral! Don't you think? -the prisoner nodded, very slowly. One could say that he had turned into stone as his chair.

-Yes. All men die. In the end.

-I won't. I won't die, because the power of Melkor keeps me immutable. How old would you say I am? -Húrin shrugged, and the Shadow made a flourish of conceit- I'm 460 years old, and look at my skin: not a single wrinkle.

-Well, in my opinion, you are quite ugly.

The Shadow gritted his teeth, annoyed.

-Fool! Mock if you want. But when you are just a corpse rotting underground, we'll see which one of the two looks better. And to think that you had the opportunity to serve the Lord Melkor with all honours and you turned it down...! Now you could have all kinds of wealth, the respect of the troops and the eternal youth. Now you could be like me.

-A slave?

The Shadow felt hurt. This man irritated him greatly, and even more so because of his laconic answers.

-I'd rather be a slave covered with jewels, than a free man covered with rags! -he shouted, turning away.

-Yes. That's how your lord Melkor likes to see his men.

-Don't be mistaken. Melkor is not my true lord. –replied the Shadow, facing him again. - My only master is Sauron the Maia, and though I have to keep up appearances in front of Melkor, in my heart I'm only loyal to him. Someday, my master Sauron will be the greatest, the sole lord of Middle Earth. He will be more powerful than that crippled Vala. And who do you think will be by his side then? I! I will be his lieutenant, as he is now for Melkor. And I'll never leave him. And my master will need me and love me as Melkor needs him and loves him now. -upon saying these last words, a lump made in his throat.

Húrin smiled enigmatically, and in that moment, he spoke more than he had spoken in all those years in Thangorodrim.

-Poor mortal doomed to not die! Your four centuries of life haven't given you any wisdom. Do you still think that the heart of a god will love you back someday? Look, my body may be aged and my end may be near. My family may be cursed and fated to suffering and annihilation. I may not be more than an old fool who knows nothing. But one thing I know: despite everything, I've had more love and happiness in my short life, than you in all that eternity. It's not me who should envy your luck. It's you who envies mine.

The Shadow of Sauron was left petrified then, as if a violent blow to his head had clouded his understanding. He opened his mouth, but his voice failed him. And felt how wrath and pain invaded his body, made him tremble, dried his lips and watered his eyes.  
In a fit of rage, he threw the bowls of food and water to the face of the prisoner, and their contents spilled on the floor, but Húrin didn't flinch.

-Repulsive old man! How dare you!? For your insolence, today you will have neither food nor drink!

And with that said, the Shadow turned around and started descending the slope towards the fortress, not daring to look back.

During the next two years, the lonely man on the mountain had to see stoically the incestuous union of his two children. And though he knew that their intentions were pure, he didn't suffer less because of that.  
Melkor couldn't have a better time. The Orcs that he had sent to the border of Doriath, pushed the innocent Nienor directly into the arms of his brother. Now he just had to think of a shocking way to reveal the truth before they both died.  
In the meantime, Glaurung showed no signs of returning to Angband.  
Melkor kept sending messengers: crows, Orcs, Balrogs, even Gothmog, insisting that he gave up the treasure. But the dragon seemed to have gone deaf.  
Finally, in early summer, the Vala met with his lieutenant alone and gave him a last message for Glaurung, an ultimatum, which he himself should communicate. Sauron was disturbed upon hearing it, but he accomplished his task with the same diligence as always and flew to Nargothrond.

What once must had been a glorious kingdom, now looked like a ruined graveyard. Neither trees nor beasts lived in the withered surroundings. And from the deep cavern, earlier a palace, emanated the toxic fumes of the dragon.  
Thus the lieutenant found the beast: sleeping soundly on a huge pile of gold, gems, necklaces and coins.

-Glaurung! -he called, in an authoritative tone.

An enormous snake eye opened and glowed in the dark.

-Oh, but isn't it the lord lieutenant? I see that Melkor has already spent all his other messengers. Next time, I guess he will come himself.

-There won't be a next time, Glaurung! This is your last chance to reform and return to Angband. It's not pleasant for me to tell you what I've been ordered to tell you, because I have appreciation for you and because, in part, you are also my creation. But if you don't reconsider and surrender to the wishes of Melkor, a very black and very short fate awaits you. You are one of his creatures, and as such, he still has control over you and can lead you to ruin if he wants. Make a choice then, either you go back to the fortress of your own will, or you run directly to your destruction according to Melkor's plan.

The dragon snorted, and stretched lazily on the pile of treasure, turning his back to Sauron. His loins gave off iridescent twinkles because of the many jewels embedded between his scales.

-I won't move from here. I like these jewels, and I like that they're only mine. All ye want is to take away what I conquered alone with my strength. You have not been generous to me, lieutenant. Why did you never give me rubies or emeralds? You give everything to that sweet-talking worm that follows you everywhere! Nothing for Glaurung! No, I'm staying here.

-Will you defy your father and Lord?

-I'm not afraid of Melkor, he can't force me to go away. I'm the master of my fate!

Sauron shook his head, downhearted, when he heard those words.

-That's what said that man, the son of Húrin... Well, ye two will share the same fate then. Farewell, Glaurung. We won't see each other anymore.

The dragon wagged his tail, as if urging him to leave, and the lieutenant disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke.

From that moment on, events escalated.  
Glaurung attacked the forest of Brethil, driven by a desire that wasn't really his, even when he thought it was. And he died among the rocks of the river, but not before making sure that his venomous words dragged with him both Túrin and his sister.  
Sauron regretted deeply the incident, and all of a sudden felt an uncomfortable emptiness inside of him. He had the strange impression that this departure was the beginning of a series of losses that he hadn't yet guessed.  
Although he wasn't the only one who felt more sadness than joy because of the events.  
At the moment in which Túrin expired, closing once and for all that drama, a cry of torn pain echoed between the high peaks of Thangorodrim.  
Melkor opened his eyes, alert, and listened carefully to that cry of a father who had lost everything.

-Now. Now he has broken at last. Now he will tell us all he knows. -he said, with a mysterious smile.

The lieutenant supposed that thereafter they'd lead the old man to a cell, and proceed to interrogate him once again. But once again, Melkor's plans proved too whimsical for his reasoning.  
And the Vala freed the man.  
The first time he had crossed the gates of Angband, he was a hefty warrior of unshakeable bravery. The second time he did it, it was as a withered being with dull eyes, in which there was no longer any trace of his old strenght.  
Sauron cursed inwardly the absurd caprices of his lord, believing that now, the opportunity to discover Turgon was gone for real. And he was about to enter the throne room to openly criticize the decision, when the Vala himself called him.  
He was imbued with an unusual energy, and just as the lieutenant arrived, he grabbed his arm and placed his fingers on the Maia's eyelids.

-Look at this. -he whispered.

And Sauron saw then through the eyes of Melkor.  
The old man, in his wanderings, had reached the Encircling Mountains and called out Turgon, asking for hospitality. But as the Vala had sentenced him, no one heard him in the desert.  
Melkor withdrew his hand and the vision dissolved.

-I told you that he would show us the way now, Sauron. But you did not believe me, right? There's a lot of loyalty in you, but very little faith. -and although the voice of the Vala sounded gentle and condescending, Sauron felt guilty.

The entertainment of Melkor was already about to end.  
And after a brief visit to Nargothrond, where Húrin caught a valuable necklace, and another equally brief visit to Doriath, where he left the jewel, the man died overwhelmed by the weight of too many misfortunes.  
Melkor lay down the last figure on the board, and yawned:

"Well, and now what could I do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Spell of Bottomless Dread" is taken from the Book of Lost Tales. It was the curse that Melkor casted on his slaves to control them. Apparently, it disappeared in later versions.


	4. The Army at the Gates of Iron

_Eärendel arose where the shadow flows_  
At Ocean's silent brim;  
Through the mouth of night as a ray of light  
Where the shores are sheer and dim  
He launched his bark like a silver spark  
From the last and lonely sand;  
Then on sunlit breath of the day's fiery death  
He sailed from Westerland. 

-The Last Voyage of Eärendel (The Book of Lost Tales II)

As the day of the assault on Gondolin approached, expectation grew in Angband.  
Plans were drawn, strategies were defined, each unit placed in position. The Orcs were restless and the Balrogs impatient. Now they just waited for Melkor's order to attack.  
But in recent days, the thoughts of the Vala had wandered to other places, to the impenetrable forests of Doriath, rather than to the walls of Gondolin. And this caused him a disturbance that grew by the minute and was transmitted to the troops, until an uncomfortable feeling of terror spread through the whole fortress. Suddenly Melkor had remembered again the lost Silmaril, and as if suddenly the jewel was the ultimate key to success, he became obsessed with it once more.  
Sauron bit his tongue to keep from cursing and Gothmog raised a ruckus when the Vala informed them that the conquest of Gondolin should be postponed and that the priority now was to recover the Silmaril.

-But my Lord, thou knowest already that there is no way to take the jewel as long as they have it hidden in Menegroth. The last time the girdle of Melian was opened was when Carcharoth went through it, but that was some kind of miracle and has not been repeated. Neither do I believe it will be in the future.

The lieutenant tried to talk sense to his lord, as he paced around in circles in the throne room, at the verge of a nervous breakdown. Gothmog was leaning against a pillar, with arms folded and a sulking face. He had devoted all his energies to prepare the assault, and now he saw his plans crumbling.

-It's true that we cannot enter Doriath. But there are creatures that are pleasant to Thingol... –the Vala stopped short, as if a sudden revelation had enlightened his mind.-...There are creatures who can indeed enter Doriath. And maybe they could... They could take the Silmaril for me.

Sauron made a faint smile of incredulity.

-I doubt much, my Lord, that the beings that Thingol and Melian invite to their kingdom will have the slightest interest in snatching the Silmaril from them.

-What about the sons of Fëanor? They don't think about anything else, day and night.

-The Noldor are not welcomed in Doriath. Let alone the sons of Fëanor. It's easier that Thingol invites thee or me to his table, than he calls any of those.

-Well, the Wood-elves can come and go as they please.

-I'm afraid, my Lord, that the loyalties of the Wood-elves are not inclined towards Angband, precisely.

-What about men?

-Only the Edain keep some friendships with the Grey Elves, and they're the most stubborn beings on the surface of Arda. They would be eaten alive by trolls, rather than betraying their friends.

-Damn, Sauron, you're not giving me any solution! -complained the Vala, overturning a table for no apparent reason.

Then Gothmog, who until now had remained silent and brooding his anger, took the floor:

-The Dwarves could steal the Silmaril. –he muttered through clenched teeth. Both Melkor and Sauron turned to him surprised.- Yes, in the time I spent in Ossiriand searching for Beren and Lúthien, I had the chance to observe the movements of the kingdoms of Nogrod and Belegost. Those underground rats trade frequently with the Sindar, they come in and out of the kingdom as if it were their home. And they are greedy. Very greedy.

Sauron showed signs of replying but, regretting it greatly, he had to admit that his rival had said something intelligent for once.  
Melkor's face lit up then, and it seemed as if the weight of the entire Middle Earth had been lifted from his shoulders.

-Yes, that's it. Brilliant, Gothmog. We will tempt those Dwarves with the Silmaril, we'll remember them how much they hate the Elves, and once they have the jewel in their possession... we'll kill them all and my crown will be complete again! You had an excellent idea. -praised Melkor. Gothmog began to swell with pride.

-Thanks, my Lord. I'll get going then, as soon as I have devised some plan and...

-You? Oh, no, you won't be in charge of this matter! -laughed the Vala. The Balrog, which was about to leave, stood frozen in place without understanding anything.- No, this mission requires a lot of cunning and subtlety, and you're too stupid, Gothmog. You would ruin everything. Sauron will take care of it.

The Balrog blinked several times, in astonishment, his brief moment of glory turned into humiliation in a single second.

-Too stupid? But the idea was mine!

-I don't want to hear about it anymore. -Melkor was blunt, and turned away, completely ignoring Gothmog.

Thus, he had no choice but to leave the room, groaning under his breath and letting out some obscenity about the Vala and his lieutenant, which fortunately didn't reach the ears of Melkor.  
Before Sauron went away as well, the Vala grabbed his shoulder and stared into his eyes.

-This is important, Sauron. Important for real. -he said, unable to hide completely the anguish in his voice.- This time I don't ask you to retrieve my Silmaril just because it's beautiful and it belongs to me. There's more to it. Something that I can only guess for the moment, and that I cannot articulate in words. But I sense that if the Silmaril doesn't return to Angband, something terrible will happen. Do you understand what I mean?

The lieutenant nodded, and his lord left him with a forced smile. There was fear and pain in his expression, and Sauron wondered if he had really understood what he meant.

It didn't take long for the Maia to devise an appropriate plan. However, he disliked the idea of having to deal with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains. At this point, Turgon should be aware already that his hideout had been discovered, and it was possible that he initiated a preemptive strike at any time. It wasn't that he mistrusted Gothmog's abilities (much to his chagrin, the Balrog was a good captain), but given the circumstances, he preferred to stay in the fortress just in case.  
Not to say that Sauron hated the Dwarves. They were stubborn, short-sighted and sullen, just like his former master Aulë. The last thing he wanted was to waste his time arguing with them for an insignificant piece of gold or something.

Also, he had already someone to do the most thankless tasks in his place.

That night, the lieutenant didn't enter the alcove of his human servant at the most appropriate time, exactly. The man was lying in bed, smoking in a strange utensil some plants with a peculiar smell. And meanwhile, two young and attractive Orcs (as attractive as Orcs could be, which was practically nothing) helped him to release the stress of the day: one, placed behind, gave him a shoulder massage, and the other, no less attentive, had his head between his legs.  
As soon as they saw Sauron in the doorway, the Orcs jumped two feet in the air and threw themselves to the ground, hiding behind the bed as if they feared a horrible punishment. And the man, dying of shame, tried to cover himself and give an explanation, that only came out in the form of disjointed syllables.  
Sauron rolled his eyes. If it was true that Eru could see all the things that happened in the universe, then he didn't envy his luck at all.

-You don't have to explain anything to me. –said the Maia, interrupting his servant's stutters.- However, I 'm afraid that you'll have to leave that for later, because now there's work for you, and a very important work. As for ye, -he added, addressing the Orcs that peered from behind the bed- ye better clear off and do something productive. On the double, maggots!

The Orcs run away, and while the man buttoned his robe again, Sauron inspected the curious object that still gave off that aromatic smoke. It was made of glass, with a bowl of water and a kind of tube to inhale. The lieutenant had never seen anything like it.

-What kind of plants are these?

-Oh, that... they're poppies, opium poppies from the gardens of Lórien, master. Some Noldor brought them, smuggled from Valinor, they say, and now there are many plantations in the East. I got those from the Easterlings of Hithlum.

-And why do you smoke them?

-Because I... Well, master. Sometimes I'm sad. And those plants produce the most wonderful feeling of peace that I know, and when I smoke them... Anyway, pain disappears. –he muttered, looking down.

Sauron thought for a moment.

-I think I will give this utensil and the plants to the lord Melkor. They'll do him good, since he's very upset lately. -decided the Maia, and at this, his servant had to settle for a sigh of resignation. Clearly, the Vala's well-being was more important than that of a mere mortal.

Then the lieutenant proceeded to explain the details of the plan to the man, and everything he should say and do when he was in the presence of the Dwarves. It was essential that he won their trust from the beginning. The Shadow of Sauron listened attentively to the instructions of his master, but there was a point at which he had some doubts:

-Forgive me to interrupt thee, master, but I don't know how I'll get the Dwarves to trust me. The corruption of Melkor is too obvious on my face, and in no way would I look as one of them.

-But you must not look as one of them. You'll pose as a Noldo.

The man lowered his eyes and smiled with shyness, blushing a little.

-Thou art too kind to me, master. For not even in my best dreams I could pose as one of those beautiful Elves.

-Oh, don't you? –said Sauron, raising an eyebrow slyly.

And then he took off the bone helmet of his servant and put him in front of a mirror. The man didn't understand at first who was the stranger that stared back at him from the reflection.  
Instead of the bloodless and sickly skin of always, there was a fresh and youthful complexion with the feel of silk. Instead of the thin gray hair, a beautiful raven mane. The wet and glassy eyeballs had been transformed into a pair of gray eyes with the spark of the first stars of Arda. And especially the mouth, the mouth with black lips and tongue, with ugly animal teeth, smiled now at him with a gesture of sweet sensuality.  
The man stroked his face, about to cry with emotion.

-Oh, master! Is it... Is it me?

-Of course it's you.

-And will I stay this way forever? –the Shadow looked at his master with hopeful eyes, but the laughter of the lieutenant soon took him out of his reverie.

-Of course you won't stay that way forever! I have only put a spell on you, and all spells are but illusions. It will last as long as it has to last. Nothing more.

-I understand...

-Well, now if you want you can get some rest. But you'll depart to the Blue Mountains as soon as possible. Melkor is really concerned about the Silmaril, and unless we do something fast he's going to burst. -and remembering this, Sauron took the utensil to smoke herbs, hoping that it would calm down the Vala a little.

Before leaving, he turned once more to his servant, who was still admiring himself in the mirror, and asked him a last question which still haunted his head:

-By the way. Tell me something, why do you mate with Orcs, having as you have so many prisoner Elves and men in the dungeons? Nobody wants to do it with an Orc. Not even the Orcs want to do it with other Orcs. You can't imagine the tremendous problems we have to get them to breed, especially since the females eat the males after finishing... And yet you copulate with them willingly? I don't understand it.

The man shrugged.

-Well, master. At least the Orcs are grateful, they do everything you ask them and do it fine, and they don't expect anything in return. Besides, haven't they the right to a little pleasure from time to time?

Sauron laughed :

-You must be the first being in Arda that cares for the pleasure of Orcs. And certainly the only one who has been able to teach them to give a massage. But anyway, I cannot but express my admiration for it. Congratulations.

When, a bit later that day, the lieutenant brought Melkor the mysterious plants and the utensil for smoking them, the Vala seemed somewhat skeptical at first. But nevertheless, he finally accepted the gift and retired to his room to experiment with the novelty. If Lórien took care of those flowers, it must be because they hid some important secret, and of course he, Melkor, was entitled to discover it.  
Soon the whole room was filled with a dense and sweet smoke, of an overwhelming heaviness, and the Vala closed his eyes yielding to slumber. Then he had a vision.  
In the gardens of Valinor, Irmo was crouched in the middle of a field of blue poppies, sowing new seeds while humming something in a low tone. He had always seemed a sinister Vala to Melkor; he had an exceptional beauty, of course, but it enclosed something eerie and deeply unsettling that he didn't know how to describe. Melkor could only see his profile, and the high stems obscured his face in part. Then he walked through the flowers, and Lórien noticed his presence.

-You come from far away, Melkor. The last time I saw you, you seemed younger. What happened the last time?

Melkor didn't know what to say, since he didn't even understand those cryptic words. Lórien kept talking, but now his voice sounded deeper, and he felt a pang of fear:

-Dreams are the brothers of death, Melkor. But you knew that already, don't you?

In that moment, Irmo stood up among the flowers and Melkor realized with horror that his brother Mandos was also there, fused to the Vala of dreams at the waist, as two branches of the same tree. And the distorted sound that their two voices produced when speaking in unison was the most terrifying thing he had ever heard.

-Don't be afraid, Melkor. Soon we will meet again. All creatures want to die while they sleep. But some of them will sleep while they die. In the Void. Come, Melkor.

And the horrific hallucination beckoned with his four arms to come closer, as if trying to seduce him and drag him to a dark end.

Melkor awoke, scared and furious, and threw down the utensil of smoke. Those flowers hid a dangerous witchcraft, now he understood, and Lórien tried to send him visions from Valinor to intimidate him. But he would find out how to interpret those symbols and use them to his advantage against the Valar. He would discover how.  
Thus, although those strange dreams tormented him, Melkor quickly grew fond of smoking the plants of Lórien, and his misgivings increased.

Some time later, and very far away from Angband, in the Blue Mountains next to the fertile lands of Ossiriand, the Dwarves of Nogrod received an unusual visit in their halls of stone.  
An Elf, who claimed to be a servant of Caranthir and went by the name of Ufedhin, had just arrived with great haste and stifling. He was disheveled, and his clothes were torn here and there. He sought help and protection from the Dwarves. Soon a crowd of rough and burly blacksmiths gathered around him, stained with soot, whispering softly and looking at him with unfriendly gesture.  
The king of the Dwarves arrived in no time, warned about the unexpected irruption, and began to question him suspiciously. But the Shadow of Sauron had rehearsed well the speech that his master had prepared for him

-Oh, mighty and generous king of Nogrod, I... !

-My name is Naugladur! -cut him off the Dwarf, with curtness.- And my generosity will depend on what you have come here for, intruder Noldo. Speak now! What do you want?

-I only ask thee for a little compassion. The guards of Caranthir have been chasing me for many miles, with spears and swords, and ready to kill me. My horse fell wounded and now I don't know where to hide. Please, if there is any truth in the legendary hospitality of Dwarves, protect me between thy impregnable walls! -and the fake Elf knelt before the king, pleading.

Naugladur smirked; it was nice to see a Noldo from above for a change.

-Caranthir doesn't beat around the bush when it comes to punishing his servants, isn't it? And he does rightly so. One has to be very tough to survive in these mountains. But no doubt you must have done something wrong. What was your crime, Ufedhin?

-I stole some jewels that belonged to my lord. -upon hearing this, there arose a rumour of laughter among those present, and the Dwarves exchanged looks of complicity.

-May Aulë help us if you stole some jewels to someone of the house of Fëanor! Do you know what happened the last time someone did something like that? -Naugladur laughed.- And where are those jewels now?

-Here, my lord. -the Shadow then pulled from the folds of his robes a handful of rings, gems, necklaces and other pieces of jewelry, that Sauron himself had given him for the occasion.

The cunning small eyes of the king opened wide upon seeing that wealth, and a spark of greed kindled in them. Without even asking for permission, he took the jewels and examined them fascinated.

-These pieces... They have an exquisite finish, an otherworldly glow. It's been very long since I saw anything like this. They remind me of... of...

-Of the jewels that Aulë gave to the Seven Fathers after the awakening, my king? -helped him one of the guards at his side.

-Yes, very true... –muttered the Dwarven lord, stroking his beard thoughtfully.- They seem to come from the very forge of Aulë, or at least from that of one of his Maiar. How is it that a mere princeling of the mountains, as Caranthir, possesses such a treasure, worthy only of a Vala?

The man made a gesture of indifference with his hand.

-My lord Naugladur, this is nothing. We the Noldor have many gifts from Aulë himself. We were his favourites in Valinor, his dear children, and he constantly rewarded us with such jewels. Although here in Middle Earth, these luxuries are rarer.

Then the king of the Dwarves frowned, annoyed, and all his subjects murmured indignantly.

-You lie, Elf! Aulë would never favour your despicable race before his own children. We are his offspring, we, the Khazâd, are his favourite ones! Everyone knows it.

-Then ask yourselves this: why Aulë lives in Valinor with the High Elves, instead of here in your mountains? When was the last time he deigned to visit you, here in Middle Earth?

-Blasphemer! -roared Naugladur, getting redder than the hot irons of his forges and clenching his fist in a threatening gesture.

-Sorry, my king. I didn't mean to be blasphemous. -said the Shadow quickly, with a softer and more submissive voice, and he bowed further before the Dwarf.- I just wanted to warn you of the terrible injustices that ye are suffering because of the Noldor. I too have suffered because of them, and it's been long since I repudiated my race and my lord. So I know of what I speak. And I will say more: they haven't just displaced you in the heart of Aulë and have usurped the lands of Beleriand; the Noldor, and the Elves in general, are robbing your family heirlooms constantly without ye even noticing it.

-Explain yourself!

-Thou wilt see, not long ago fell the kingdom of Nargothrond (I assume thou art aware already) and there was a great looting among the treasures of Finrod Felagund. Everyone thought that after the death of the dragon, those treasures would return to Nogrod and Belegost, whence most of them came. And no doubt, thus would have wanted it the good king Finrod, the only Elven friend of the Dwarves. However, how many of those jewels have ye seen? No one, right? And not only that, I heard that a man named Húrin, a wild outlaw, came later to the ruins of Nargothrond, cruelly killed a helpless Dwarf and took a valuable necklace. Dost thou know where he brought it? To Doriath, to the kingdom of Thingol! That king that poses as your friend, but then betrays you like this. Isn't it shameful?

-A valuable necklace, you said? It wouldn't be the Nauglamír, the Necklace of the Dwarves! Would it?

\- I can't know it for sure, my lord. But it is quite possible, as it was the only thing the man took from the spoils. It must have been something exceptional.

Naugladur squinted, then turned around, and grumbling, approached a group of elders who should be his counselors. For a long time he discussed with them in the strange language of his race, and completely ignored the visitor. The man could not understand a word of that gibberish full of "Ks" and "Zs", and this made him very nervous. Especially, because the Dwarves interrupted their talk from time to time to stare mischievously at him and chuckle.  
The Shadow felt quite fatigued already, when those creatures finally reached an agreement. The king came to him then, with a satisfied smile, and announced:

-Well, Ufedhin, despite the fact that you belong to a lying and criminal lineage, we decided to believe you. Thus, we'll soon pay a visit to Thingol, and we'll see with our own eyes what has stolen from us that king of thieves, and what we can take from him in revenge. As for you, we'll give you shelter in our splendid palace, but of course, in exchange for a small fee. -and the Dwarf closed his hand around the jewels of Sauron and put them in his pocket.- However, since you're also a thief and we cannot trust you, you'll accompany us on our expedition. And if by some chance things went askew, you'll be the one to blame for everything, understood?

The man nodded, pretending resignation. Everything had gone off without a hitch.

During the following days, the mysterious Ufedhin managed to pursue the king through each one of the galleries of Nogrod, telling him offensive stories about the Elves and stirring up the antipathy, never quenched completely, between the two races. It wasn't hard to convince him that by stealing the Silmaril along with the necklace, the Dwarves would settle their account with the Elves once and for all.  
At first the king was skeptical on that point. He was afraid that, if he stole the Silmaril, the wrath of the sons of Fëanor would fall on his people, and above all he feared Morgoth. Then, seeing him hesitating, the man pulled up the subject of Beren and Lúthien, in an apparently casual way. And Naugladur, remembering that a maiden wasn't daunted by the Dark Enemy, not even before his throne, was forced to banish his fears out of pride.  
Nonetheless, these weren't easy days for the Shadow of Sauron.  
Nogrod, rather than a palace, was a cold, dark cavern that smelled of dust and dirt. The cot that they gave him to sleep was harder than the heads of its owners, and the food had too many spicy condiments. In addition, the Dwarves drank heavily, and although they weren't harmed by it, he ended up on the floor on more than one occasion, to the general rejoicing.  
Other than that, he couldn't enjoy much his temporary attractiveness, because everybody there considered him extremely ugly, just as the other Elves. And he also earned a punch when he confused the wife of one of them with a male. Although it was true that the lady's beard was longer than that of her husband.  
But ultimately, he thought, all the peoples of Arda believed that their homes were the most luxurious, their food the most delicious, and their women the most beautiful. He wasn't one to judge those strange people.

Very different, however, was his impression of Menegroth, the Thousand Caves.  
At first Thingol was furious to discover that a Noldo had slipped between the group of Dwarves. But then, upon learning that Caranthir had exiled him and that he was deeply at odds with the sons of Fëanor, his mood softened and allowed him to enter.  
The Shadow of Sauron didn't know that Middle Earth could hold so much beauty.  
Virtually, all he knew until then was the gloominess of Angband and the most dirty and cruel aspects of life. Most of the Elves that he saw on a daily basis were emaciated and full of bruises, most of the beings around him screamed and suffered, instead of singing and laughing as did the inhabitants of that kingdom. And everybody was beautiful and kind to him, and there were crystalline water fountains and birds carved in stone, and a delicate light extracted twinkles from the gems embedded in the walls.  
During the banquet that Thingol and Melian organized later, to welcome the newcomers, the man began to feel extremely happy to be there. Nobody elbowed him and tried to steal his food, as Orcs used to do. Nobody talked with a full mouth and spat on the plate. Nobody tried to molest him with obscene caresses, however close they were sitting. Everyone was so polite, that at one point he was afraid that his manners, less refined, betrayed him as an enemy spy.

And then there were Thingol and Melian. How different were those rulers from Melkor! Throughout the whole feast, they didn't burst in anger and threatened death to anyone, not even once! And both were so beautiful, such a perfect couple...  
If he made some effort, the Shadow could combine both of their faces into a single one and see Lúthien again. The image of the maiden had etched into his soul forever since he saw her dance in front of Melkor. And her song would accompany him until the end of his days, like the scars on his back. From time to time, that ghostly melody gave him a strange mixture of sadness and serenity.  
Lost in his reverie, the man began to fantasize about how wonderful it would be to stay and live in Menegroth and participate as well in that bliss; the bliss of those who turn their backs to the problems of the world and withdraw into themselves. And he started feeling a certain infatuation, a desire, for both Thingol and Melian, and couldn't help imagining things.  
However, the frowning face of the king of the Sindar soon took him out of his fantasies. Thingol had just noticed his glances and sighs, and Melian whispered something in his ear.  
The Shadow of Sauron felt fear and shame, and looked down. He worried that the Maia could see through his disguise. It was true that his master Sauron had said many times that he knew all the tricks of Melian. But wouldn't it be possible then that also Melian knew all the tricks of his master?  
Then, remembering Sauron, the man banished from his mind all those absurd dreams and focused on the plan. His master was more than enough reason to prefer the darkness of Angband before the whole beauty of the Thousand Caves together.

When the feast was already coming to its end, Thingol stood up and called for silence to speak:

-My dear friends of Nogrod. It's always a pleasure to receive you in my kingdom, and many things have learned our two peoples from each other. Much we have enriched mutually, both in lore and in the creation of works of great beauty. However, on this occasion your visit is even more timely, since recently a heirloom from my sadly deceased kinsman Finrod Felagund reached my hands. And I would like to count on your ability as goldsmiths, to unite this jewel with another, even more extraordinary one, and make thus an object unprecedented in Middle Earth, that will astonish all generations to come.

The king of the Sindar approached then one of his guards and whispered a few words. A while later the Elf returned with a fabulous gemstone necklace and placed it in the hands of Thingol. Glancing sideways, the Shadow could see how Naugladur gritted his teeth in anger at the sight of the necklace.

-This, my dear friends, is the Nauglamír, the famous Necklace of the Dwarves, that ye certainly know. And this is what I ask you, that ye put all your efforts and good work to set together in one piece the best creation of your race and the best of ours: the Silmaril of Fëanor, that with so much sufferings my daughter and her husband got.

The tension in the air could have been cut with a knife. But the Dwarves hid their desire for vengeance after their bushy beards, and pretended kindness and good intentions.

Satisfied with the agreement, Thingol put away the necklace again, and continued with his carefree existence.

In the following days, the Dwarves worked hard in the forges of Menegroth until they managed to set the Silmaril among the other gemstones of the necklace. And when Thingol hung it on his neck at last, there was a general murmur of admiration.  
The Shadow of Sauron regretted a bit having to steal the Silmaril from this beautiful Elf, just to give it back to Melkor, so he could place it above his furrowed brow. But he had to carry out the mission.

That same night, Naugladur slipped into the man's bedroom and woke him up. He wore a mail shirt and was carrying his axe and a knife.

-Get up, Ufedhin! It's time to collect payment for so many hours of forge work. And that effeminate Elf has made it too easy for us: we'll take the Nauglamír and the Silmaril, all in one. –and pulling from his arm he made him stand up.- Now we will see towards where your loyalties lean.

Among the silence of the night, the Dwarven lord went to the royal bedroom, followed by a group of soldiers and the man. Someone had already dealt with the king's guard, so they could enter without problems. Thingol was fast asleep, and the light of the Silmaril brought silvery glints from his skin and hair.  
To everyone's surprise, Melian didn't sleep with him.

-It seems that not everything is as perfect in Menegroth as they want us to believe, huh, Ufedhin? –scoffed Naugladur, nudging him.- And look how presumptuous! Not even sleeping he can depart from our jewel.

When Thingol opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the metallic shimmer of a knife in front of him. Confused and alarmed, he tried to move away from the weapon, but some calloused hands grabbed him from behind.

-Traitors! What do ye think ye are doing? –he snapped, once his initial shock had turned into outrage.

-We're taking back what is ours.

-The Silmaril? Don't be absurd, it's mine in my own right! -and the Elf put his hands on the necklace instinctively.

-Watch your tongue, thief. Very little you value your life indeed, if you act so haughty in front of someone who is pointing a knife at you.

-Ye won't dare! I am Thingol, lord of Doriath! I awoke under the light of the first stars and have been a guest of the gods! Ye are nothing but some miserable Naugrim. So get your dirty hands off me, and go away from my kingdom. Ye won't receive anything in exchange of your work, because ye have returned treason for generosity. Get out of here!

A flash of anger sparkled in the eyes of Naugladur, and at his signal, the Dwarves immobilized Thingol on the bed and covered his mouth, while their king tore the necklace among struggles. Then the man advised them to leave the Elf unconscious without hurting him too much, and flee as soon as possible. But Naugladur preferred a more drastic solution, and with a flick of his hand he slit the throat of Thingol, who quickly bled and died.  
The Shadow watched the scene dumbfounded. He could have imagined a similar reaction in an Orc, but never in those blacksmiths and traders, so calm in appearance. Had the corruption of Melkor spread so much through Middle Earth, that it had reached even the hearts of those beings secluded from the world?  
Or perhaps, better said, that had nothing to do with the corruption of Melkor. Perhaps it was merely the corruption of wealth, far more terrible and more ubiquitous.

While the murderers fled through the Thousand Caves, the man thought about how little pleased would be his master with that affair. He had given him clear orders to steal the Silmaril in the most discreet way and without unnecessary violence. Right now Angband was focused on the assault to Gondolin, and starting an open war with Doriath was not the most appropriate thing. But it was too late for that.  
The news of the death of Thingol spread like wildfire throughout Doriath, and soon they had the whole army of the Sindar on their heels.  
By the time they reached the borders of the kingdom, there was barely a handful of Dwarves alive. And he would have been killed as well, had it not been for a black shadow that suddenly enveloped him, and made him go unnoticed by the soldiers.  
When the cloud was lifted, his master Sauron emerged from the darkness, and his pupil of fire was contracted with fury.

-Where is the Silmaril? -he asked, with an authoritarian tone.

The man knelt on the floor until he touched with his forehead on the ground, trembling from top to bottom.

-I... master, I... I don't know.

-What!?

-Everything went awry, the Dwarves... the stupid Dwarves killed Thingol for no reason, and the Sindar chased us. The king of Nogrod had the Silmaril, but now... now I don't know where he is. Maybe he's dead, maybe the Silmaril has been brought back to Menegroth. I don't know, master!

-Useless! –hissed the lieutenant through his teeth, and reached for the whip. The man shrank further and covered his head, begging for mercy among stuttering. Although in the end Sauron changed his mind and didn't whip him.- I should skin your backside for having failed me this way. What you had to do was very simple, don't you think? I only asked you to bring the Dwarves out of Doriath with the Silmaril. I would have taken care of the rest. But not even that you were able to do. However, since I'm very generous, and besides, Melkor really "needs" that Silmaril, I'll give you another chance. You will return to Nogrod with the survivors and convince them to go back to Menegroth, and this time on the warpath. What ye didn't manage in a simple and discreet way, ye will have to manage now with blood and tears.

-Yes, master. -muttered the man, standing up.

The Maia looked absently towards the thicket, and as if speaking to himself he added:

-The girdle of the forest has been opened. Melian, what will you do now without your king?

After this, Sauron disappeared again, in a cloud of darkness and bat's flappings.

In Angband Melkor was growing impatient. He had paced through the entire fortress up and down at least a dozen times, and only stopped when the pain in his leg prevented him from continuing. The lieutenant decided to soften the news a bit, and simply say that the Dwarves were being delayed in the Thousand Caves. He hated having to lie to his lord, but in his present mood it wouldn't do him any good to know the harsh truth.  
For his part, the Shadow of Sauron returned dejected and fearful to Nogrod.  
In a way, if he was going to be personally involved in a war now, it was because of his own fault. He should have recovered the Silmaril the first time he had the occasion, after the death of Carcharoth, instead of having rehearsed his petty revenge. He deserved that, for being disloyal.  
Fortunately, the king of the Dwarves had not died, and he was also more than willing to start a war with the Sindar for the jewel of Fëanor.

The day the battle finally erupted in Doriath, Melkor was barely able to sit on the throne for two seconds. He had sent his best captains and a strong legion of Orcs to gather the spoils of the Dwarves.  
From one of the cliffs of Thangorodrim he could descry in the distance the dark green patch of the forest, and the dust cloud that came undoubtedly from the horses of his troops. But as much as he tried to convince himself that he would soon have the Silmaril in his hands, Melkor still felt inside the same anguished foreboding.

Indeed, the news that brought the lieutenant at the end of the battle were not at all positive. He came with that despicable man that he called his "Shadow", covered with the rags of what must had been an Elven cloak, and again with his usual appearance after the dissolution of the spell.  
The creature threw himself to his feet and explained what had happened.  
After leaving Doriath with the Nauglamír, the Dwarves had made a halt in the woods to sleep, knowing that the Sindar were too weak to continue the fighting and that Melian had given up hope after the death of Thingol. In the darkness of the night, the Shadow of Sauron had sneaked up Naugladur, ready to kill him and steal the Silmaril. But another Dwarf had discovered him and forced him to flee for his life. In the thicket he had encountered then the troops from Angband, led by the lieutenant, that already approached the camp of the Dwarves. But when they returned there, they found nothing but corpses everywhere, pierced by arrows of mysterious origin. The stolen spoils from Menegroth had been thrown into the river Ascar, and there was no trace neither of the Necklace of the Dwarves nor of the Silmaril.

Melkor listened to the story with apparent calm, but his fingers were bleeding from sinking them so hard in his throne's armrest.

-Sauron, -he said very quietly- tell your worm to go out of my sight, or else I'll crush him right now with Grond.

The aforementioned didn't need to be told twice, and left the room in a rush. Sauron bowed his head, distraught.

-My Lord, I don't understand what happened. The scout patrols didn't register any strange movement in the forest. No other hidden army. It may be that the Green Elves of Ossiriand arrived before us. They are very secretive, but if thou givest me thy permission I...

-Sauron, go away. -interrupted Melkor, with his forehead resting on his hand and without even deigning to look at him.- Now I want to be alone. Don't bother me with your presence.

Sometimes the Vala had the impression that no one in Angband was aware of how terribly important was that jewel. His fate and that of the whole Arda depended on him recovering his Silmaril or not. But no one else saw this. He was surrounded by blinded, by idiots, by traitors, by spies. By spies of the Valar. Even in those flowers, yes, in those poppies. Even there were hidden Lórien, and his cruel brother. And they were coming for him, and wanted to tell him something important. But what?

After this initial failure, the inevitability of fate seemed to fall on him so that, again and again, the Silmaril escaped from his fingers. At a certain point it reappeared in Doriath, held by the heir of Thingol. But before he could even react, the meddling sons of Fëanor took up the matter, and once more the jewel of their father disappeared.  
Melkor couldn't believe his bad luck and the injustice of everything that happened to him.  
Thus, he had to leave in the background this matter, and preferred to refocus in Gondolin.

The conquest was not going to be as easy as he thought at first, since the eagles of Manwë watched the entire perimeter of the Encircling Mountains, and put an end to any patrol that he sent.  
His brother, as always, didn't find more satisfaction than thwart him in any way possible. It had always been so, since the Music of the Ainur.  
At first, Manwë and he had been closely united. In the Timeless Halls and amid the primordial void, he and his brother had swirled together as two beams of light, sometimes getting closer until they touched and sometimes separating to see each other. And a deep joy had seized them upon being aware of their existence, and the existence of the other, and upon recognizing themselves as brothers and equals. But then, during the Music, Manwë had failed him.  
Melkor sincerely believed that his brother would join him in his theme, but no: the stupid Vala had preferred to be out of tune with the rest. And to top it off, he had befriended his worst enemy Ulmo and had paired up with Varda, despite knowing how obnoxious he found her.  
Melkor was still waiting for an apology for such a petty behaviour; an apology that he knew would never come.  
Only the eagles had come.

The answer to his problems came, however, in the form of an Elf.  
A group of Orcs had captured one of the miners of Gondolin that, contrary to custom, had ventured beyond the mountains. The subject went by the name of Maeglin and claimed to be a relative of Turgon. However, at first glance Melkor guessed that he wasn't a real Noldo. His graceless demeanor and his surly visage revealed a more humble origins, possibly of the dark Elves. There was something strange about him, also, a wicked gleam in his eyes that was not usual in those of his race.  
The Vala wondered if he had some Orc as an ancestor.  
Nevertheless, the prisoner turned out to be a better catch than the noblest of the Eldar. As soon as he saw the lieutenant grabbing a steel barbed scourge, he knelt before Melkor and promised to reveal all the secrets of Gondolin if they didn't hurt him.  
Thanks to him Melkor learned about a blind spot in the wall of mountains, a point at which the sight of the eagles was obscured because of a ravine, and where he could best lead his troops through a crevice. Moreover, the prisoner continued talking about the defenses of the city, its forces and its weaknesses, without even needing to ask him.

-I could even open the doors of the city from within. -offered the Elf, with a sidelong glance.- But I would like, lord Morg... uh... Melkor, to get some guarantee in return. Thou knowest, a small prize. Not much, really.

Melkor laughed:

-Oh, Maeglin! I wish all the Elves were like you. Do you know? Those who confess after being tortured, are what we call weak spirits. But those who confess even before tasting the whip, those, my dear Maeglin, are the real traitors. So tell me what you want.

-I only ask thee to let me rule Gondolin as thy vassal, my lord. And I want the hand of Idril, the daughter of Turgon.

-What, can't you ask her hand yourself? Do I have to go myself to bring her some flowers?

-It's not that simple. She is already married and besides, she doesn't love me. If thou couldst force her with thy power or some spell...

-Oh Maeglin, you are indeed an honest and curteous knight! -scoffed the Vala, with a sarcastic grin.

The Elf shrugged:

-Well, that's how my father got my mother.

-Runs in the family, then... Anyway, Maeglin, why talk more? It will be better that you go back to your mine before your companions begin to suspect. –and Melkor gestured to one of the guards to escort the prisoner to the exit.

The Elf seemed to have doubts, and turned one last time to the Vala:

-Can I trust thy word? Will I get the prize thou hast promised me?

-Sure, Maeglin! You'll get the prize that every traitor deserves. And I feel that you will earn it very soon. -the cold smile that accompanied these words made Maeglin shudder, and he left the room with the desire of leaving Angband as fast as possible.

After this episode, there was no reason to further delay the assault. The troops and war machines were ready. The legions of Orcs and Balrogs in formation. The dragons that would accompany them had been equipped with the latest inventions of Sauron: a kind of metallic coating that protected their most vulnerable parts and helped to retain the heat of the beasts, so that anyone who approached them would be scorched by the burning metal. With these latest developments, the creatures would be invincible.

The eve of the attack, shortly before the start of summer, Melkor had another disturbing vision caused by the poppies of Lórien.  
A silver flower opened, and from it was born a fruit as bright as the Silmaril that grew and grew until it became immeasurable. And its terrible light consumed him entirely.  
After the vision, the Vala realized that the burn of his hand hurt more than usual, and following a kind of irrational but unerring instinct, he entrusted his lieutenant with the special mission of watching over all exits from the city. Nobody, absolutely nobody, neither an elder, nor a warrior, nor a maiden, nor a matron, nor a child, should escape the walls of Gondolin. All of them would perish in fire or would fall among fighting, and there would be no prisoners.  
Sauron was surprised by the strange order; usually Melkor didn't care about the fate of the elderly, women or children, because he didn't saw them as a threat.

Thus, the appointed day the troops of Angband were deployed across all Anfauglith as a sea of fire and metal, and soon reached the first slopes of the mountains.  
Sauron was in the rear, leading a group of wraiths and vampires that should help him in his task of vigilance. The sun had just set, and the shadows crawled under the pine trees that they were passing by.  
At that hour the spectres started getting excited and muttering under their breath, until they suddenly stopped dead and refused to continue.  
Sauron turned to them, furious:

-What does this mean, what is this insubordination!? Go ahead now or ye will spend the next millennium locked into the last pit of Angband! -he threatened.

But one of the vampires, that seemed to take the lead, stepped forward and smiled with his repulsive fangs covered in blood:

-That is it, lord lieutenant. We have spent the last millennium locked in the pits, and now that we are free... Thou knowest, it's much better here in the woods than in the middle of a siege, with rocks flying overhead and clouds of sulfur in the air.

-Cowards! Your obligation is to serve the lord Melkor, not acting according to your whim! What are ye afraid of, anyway?

-Well, with all due respect, lord lieutenant, thou hast not been a trustworthy leader in the past. Does the name of Thuringwethil sound familiar to thee? -and the vampire narrowed his eyes until they were no more than two malicious slits.- If thou hadst taken better care of thy vassals, my sister would still be alive.

-Your sister is dead because of her recklessness and for being a rowdy drunk! Just for that! –then Sauron grabbed his whip, and got ready to teach a lesson to those rebels.

But the vampire let out a snort of aggression, and in a second the lieutenant found himself crushed by an avalanche of nocturnal creatures. The beings immobilized him with their icy claws, and although Sauron tried to escape, his strength failed him. There were among those wraiths some powerful Maiar and very skilled sorcerers, and since he was attacked by surprise and by so many together, he was left impotent.  
The vampire crawled over him and ran a moist finger across his swollen jugular.

-We're going to have all a feast with thee, lieutenant. We've spent too many years hungry and lonely, and now we want some fun. Isn't it true?

The group of rebels laughed noisily, and Sauron closed his eyes upon seeing the mouth of the vampire opening over him and feeling his foul breath.  
He had the tip of the fangs sunk in his skin already, when a sudden burst of fire crossed in front of his eyes. And then another, and another. The spectres were scattered at once and took refuge in the shadows, terrified by the brightness.

-What happens, Gorthaur? Problems of discipline? -said a guttural voice.

The lieutenant came out of his stupor and looked toward the voice. Gothmog was leaning against a tree, with the whip of fire still in his hand and a sly smile painted on his huge face.  
Then he stood up and dusted himself, quite ashamed of being seen like that by the Balrog, precisely.

-How can you let that bunch of losers dominate you thus? I insist, Gorthaur, that you should spend more time on the battlefield riding a horse, instead of so much time in the bedroom riding the lord Melkor.

Sauron smiled:

-Jealous, Gothmog? -and the Balrog turned around with a snarl, and got ready to return to his company, but the lieutenant withheld him.- Wait a minute! I...

-Do not say it, Sauron! Don't dare to say it!

-...Thank you, Gothmog.

The demon snorted resigned, and disappeared into the woods, shaking his head.  
Suddenly, Sauron felt relieved, as if he had shaken off the weight of many centuries.  
It didn't take him too long to gather the hidden spectres, and after an exemplary punishment of the revolt's leaders, they marched again behind him in submission.

While passing across the gorge through the Encircling Mountains, the lieutenant remembered what Maeglin had told them about a secret crevice, the Eagles' Cleft, which shouldn't be too far away. The most sensible thing would bet setting a guard in that pass too, and although Gothmog was reluctant at first, he ended up leaving one of his Balrogs as a watchman.

In the middle of the plain hidden by the mountains, Gondolin stood like a strange outgrowth of the land, unusually flat.  
Midnight had passed already, and the twinkling lights of the festival at the top of the towers and along the walls, gave the city an appearance of unreal mirage. The day of the attack had been carefully chosen, and while the Elves looked distracted eastward, the troops of Angband advanced from the North into the open field and without opposition.  
By the time the sentries sounded the alarm, it was too late.

The first collision was brutal, and one of the dragons crawled up the hill while the arrows bounced off his armour, and he knocked the door down with a header.  
Soon thereafter, the multicoloured lights of the festival had been replaced by the red glow of the fire, and the soft chanting of the Elves by the inflamed cries of the Orcs.  
The various Houses in which the defenders of Gondolin were divided crowded in the gap of the wall, trying to stop the advance. But even when they offered more resistance than what had been expected and there were many casualties, in the end they gave up more and more ground, and one of the Houses was completely exterminated.  
Sauron used the momentum to slip with his company through one of the flanks, and with a detour reached the walls of the southern side. That was the most likely area for flights to happen, because it was near the old entrance to the valley, the aptly named Way of Escape. For greater safety, a dragon was placed on the other side of this gate, and although it was unlikely that anyone escaped the vigilance of Sauron, yet if someone did, he would get a nasty surprise when he came out.

The fighting lasted all night, with the undisputed triumph of Angband. As dragons penetrated the city, the atmosphere became more and more unbearable. Not just because of the smoke they exhaled, but also because of the vapours that rose from the fountains when they passed near them. Soon the cloud that hung in the air blocked sight beyond a few meters.  
Realizing that the supervision of the walls was more than enough, Sauron decided to intervene in some of the points that were causing most problems for the troops.  
In the market square, one of the Houses of Gondolin had launched a suicide attack and had massacred many Orcs. The dragon that still tried to defend the area had been pushed into a fountain and his fire was extinguished. In addition, the Noldor had found fissures in his armour and had driven several spears in him, so that the beast was writhing in agony and unable to fight anymore.  
The lieutenant took over a company of rather battered Orcs and tried to keep the positions; the market was very close to the King's Square, and it wasn't appropriate to lose such a strategic point. However, the Noldor seemed to be imbued with the very fury of the Valar, and would not yield even after losing a limb. Also, the other Houses of Gondolin, fleeing the enemy, eventually gathered there and joined their ranks.  
Given that the situation was becoming more complicated than he thought at first, Sauron sent a small and elusive Orc to seek Gothmog and ask him for reinforcements. The creature managed to dodge the swords of the Elves and the bodies piled up on the floor, and disappeared through a sideway.

However, when the Orc came back, he wasn't accompanied by any Balrog.

-Damn it! Where is Gothmog? I need him right now! -yelled the lieutenant, between thrust and thrust.

The Orc lowered his head with sorrow.

-My lord, I'm afraid that Gothmog is not going to come.

-What are you saying!? The King's Square is already taken, this is where we have problems!

-My lord... Gothmog has fallen in combat.

The news produced such a strong impression in Sauron, that he was almost pierced by a sword due to his astonishment.  
Suddenly, a creak shook the entire city and the combat fell silent for a moment.  
The tower of the king, with Turgon within it, collapsed among a bang and a spectacular column of smoke. In the silence that enveloped the city then, Sauron only heard the cries of a child, that were extinguished immediately.  
Turgon had died. And the moral of the Noldor then collapsed like the tower of his king.  
After that, it wasn't very difficult for the remaining Orcs to kill the Elves or make them flee in disarray. Soon, the place was deserted except for the lieutenant and the dragon, still squirming in extreme pain. Sauron was forced to cut his head off with a two-handed blow to end his suffering.  
Then he went to the King's Square.

Besides the fountain, the Balrogs had deposited the body of their captain, and now they formed a circle around him and sang a dirge with their deep voices.

Sauron knew that Gothmog wasn't dead in the common sense of the word. As the Maia he was, his spirit was immortal, of course.  
But he also knew that once destroyed his body, they wouldn't see the Balrog in many millennia, if they ever saw him again. Gothmog, unlike him, had never been skilful at getting disembodied and re-embodied, and also, he had been closely attached to that body. Wherever he was now, only Eru could know.  
Throughout the funeral ceremony and the lifting of the mound, the lieutenant stood apart, a black shadow that no one noticed.  
The death of Gothmog caused him a series of very indefinite feelings, that he scarcely understood. The only thing he knew, was that they were bitter feelings, whatever they may be. And the fact that the last act of his rival towards him had been one of kindness, was something that he didn't know if was relieving or, on the contrary, made the incident even more bitter.  
When they had all gone to their positions, Sauron came near the mound of stones beside the fountain and watched it long in silence.  
Finally he took his black whip, and rolling it, laid it on the grave next to the whip of fire that had belonged to Gothmog.

-I won't need this anymore. After all, most of the time I used it to lash your face. -he said to the dead, smiling sadly.- It was an honour to fight besides you, Gothmog, and also against you. Receive now the deserved rest of the warrior, here where so many princes and a king fell at the same time.

Then Sauron stood at attention in front of the mound, made a last martial greet to bid farewell to the Balrog (sometimes rival, sometimes companion) and left the square, with the feeling that life had lost a great part of its interest.

The city was completely taken and there were no survivors, when finally the sun rose in the East. A dense fog, product of the fires and evaporation, had spread throughout the valley, and only the mountains loomed above it, like a floating ring of rock. Now all that remained was to make some final checks and plunder what was worth of plundering.  
Despite the victory, Sauron didn't share the euphoria of the troops, and at noon some disturbing news further ruined his mood.  
A group of Orcs had attempted to steal a heavy chest full of precious stones, and coming across a courtyard with the load, the floor gave away to reveal a secret tunnel. The lieutenant looked stunned at the gallery, crudely carved but that stretched for miles and led almost to the foot of the mountains. And he felt terribly stupid and embarrassed for the fact that something like this would have been overlooked.  
When they examined the Eagles' Cleft they discovered, indeed, that the fugitives had escaped through there, and there were numerous dead Orcs, while the Balrog sentry lay at the bottom of a ravine.  
Sauron's curse echoed between the peaks of the mountains, but all searching was in vain, for the fugitives seemed to have vanished from earth.  
The wrath of Melkor would be legendary when he knew about this.

And of course it was thus when Sauron gave him the full report of the fall of Gondolin.  
However, so much had happened, both good and bad, and the torrent of information was so overwhelming, that the Vala was left with somewhat confused emotions. Anger turned into satisfaction upon learning that Turgon was dead, hence came discourage at the fall of Gothmog, and finally, he was glad to know that Gondolin didn't exist anymore and would never rise again.  
After this there was a big feast in Angband. But even when they had every reason to celebrate, both Melkor and Sauron, and even the Orcs, had the impression that spirits were much duller than after the Unnumbered Tears.

In the years that followed, Melkor forgot about the Silmaril for a while and felt calm and confident. Now at last had fallen all the Elven realms, even Doriath, and only remained a few settlements of the Wood-elves here and there, without power or importance. Most of the men feared and respected him, and those that did not, disappeared soon. His plans of possessing the whole of Middle Earth were almost complete.

But if this was so, why did Melkor felt so disheartened at times? Why was depressed by his days, his months, his years? Why was that precisely now, after reaching the peak of his power, he had the impression of facing an inevitable decline? Was it because of boredom, of the total lack of goals and challenges?  
And the same happened to Sauron. With no wars to fight, no plans to devise, no rival with whom to compete, the lieutenant spent his days hanging around Angband without any motivation. Gradually he became secluded, more and more, and spent most of his time reading ancient books of lore. His relationship with Melkor grew cold, and the Vala almost forgot about his existence. His Shadow, on the other hand, fluttered around him occasionally, but the lieutenant barely paid attention to him anymore.

In the years of the glory of Angband, time passed unbearably slow inside the fortress.  
Until one day, at dawn, Melkor felt an intense pain in the burnt of his hand.  
And anxiety returned.  
The next day, the pain became stronger, and the next even more. And when Melkor looked out a small window that faced west at the hour of dusk, he saw something new in the sky, and all the fears and nightmares that he believed to be already buried, returned with redoubled violence.

-Sauron, Sauron, come here right now! -he called at the top of his lungs. The lieutenant came quickly, alarmed by this sudden hysteria, and the Vala grabbed his arm and slammed him against the window. His hand was shaking horribly.- Look, look there, towards the sun that sinks into the horizon! It's my Silmaril, in the sky!

Sauron swept the sky with his eyes, but all he saw was a star somewhat brighter than the others, which began to be seen already in the twilight.

-It's just a star of Varda, my Lord. I don't see what it has of particular.

-It's not a star, ignorant! Do you think that I don't know the stars of Varda? I know each one of their positions, each one of their figures, for they are as painful scars on my skin. And I know the light of my Silmarils. I've had it on my forehead for centuries, and I have loved it and have hated it more than anything in this world. So, if I tell you that this is one of my Silmarils, it's because is one of my Silmarils.

-And what does this mean, my Lord?

A gloomy shadow had fallen upon the face of Melkor, and Sauron felt a chill running down his spine.

-Nothing good, Sauron. This doesn't foretell anything good.

The Vala ordered his lieutenant to be ready for action, to wipe the dust off weapons and to bring the troops out of their comfort. Then, when he was alone again, he opened a drawer in his desk and looked for the utensil in which, long ago, he had smoked the flowers of Lórien.  
During the years of peace that followed the fall of Gondolin, he had gotten rid of most of those accursed plants. But in the bottom of that drawer, hidden and almost forgotten, he had left a last flower waiting for its due time.  
And the time had come.  
In the vision that materialized before his eyes, a huge eagle flew from the West, carrying something bright in its beak, and perched on top of a mountain. Once there, it dug a hole in the floor until finding the nest of a serpent, and pulled it out by force. The snake had two eyes like two glittering jewels and writhed in the grip of the eagle, trying to inject its poison in vain. Finally, the bird ripped the jewels off its head with a peck, and disemboweled its victim completely. Black blood splattered around like fetid rain, and the eagle swallowed the two jewels.

Melkor awoke terrified, and seized by fury, he threw the utensil of smoke out the window, so that it crashed in a thousand pieces upon hitting the battlements of the fortress.  
Late at night, he called again his lieutenant. And to the Maia's surprise, he insisted on making love. However, it wasn't pleasant for either, but the whole act seemed forced and rushed, as if Melkor only did it to escape something dark that tormented him.  
At the end he stayed in bed next to the Maia, but didn't sleep a single second.

When Sauron opened his eyes in the morning, he found him standing naked at the window, looking pensively towards the West. There was something very strange in the light of the room, for all of it was coloured by a reddish glow, as if it was dusk rather than dawn. And in the darkness, the pale body of the Vala, just lit by the Silmarils, seemed frail and sickly to him.  
The lieutenant stood up from bed and put a robe over his master's shoulders to warm him. Then he saw what was happening in the West.  
The sky had broken and was tinged with blood-red, and the star that Melkor claimed that was his Silmaril, shone now abnormally close. On the horizon, over the ocean, a tidal wave of white sails and banners rose in defiance. And the clamour of the trumpets of war broke against the shores of Beleriand.  
Sauron felt an intense fear.

-It's the wrath of the Valar. They're coming for me. -muttered Melkor to himself. And then turned to his lieutenant, who was trembling slightly, and snapped sternly:- It's no time for doubts and dread, Sauron! You have to bring all troops outside of Angband. From the mightiest of the dragons to the least of the Orcs, they all must go out to meet the enemy. And all must die before giving up a single inch of land. This time there won't be retreats, nor escapes, nor prisoners, nor strategies. Only a frontal assault in the open. Total war, Sauron.

The Maia felt his legs getting weak, and an upsetting knot in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't fine at all.

-My Lord, we cannot... It's not sensible to send all troops at once. It will be a massacre! We need to keep some forces for the future.

-There is no future, Sauron, there is no tomorrow! Don't you understand yet!? -roared the Vala shaking him with violence.

His eyes gave off incandescent sparks, and the lieutenant lowered his head. He had to take breath and courage before answering:

-Yes, my Lord, I understand. Total war, then.

By the afternoon, all the lands surrounding the fortress had disappeared under the mass of rusty armours and plumed helmets of the Orcs. The first columns of the army of the Valar, made up by Elves from Valinor and some Maiar, advanced in formation through Hithlum. And many men, Edain above all but also some Easterling traitors, joined them and increasingly swelled their ranks.  
Among the troops of Angband swept fear and indecision, and after the first confrontation it was clear that they wouldn't withstand the attack.  
In front of the enemies marched the herald of Manwë, Eönwë himself, and his mere brilliance was enough to make the hearts of Orcs, and even of Balrogs, shrink.  
The battle that raged above their heads was no less spectacular.  
Melkor's dragons covered with their shadow all Anfauglith and exterminated a great number of the invaders. But Manwë had sent his eagles, and these were huge and fast. Not long thereafter, the first bodies of the big reptiles began to fall, engulfed in flames, which further sowed panic and disorder.  
Meanwhile, in the very core of Angband, Melkor made an ultimate sacrifice: he would disperse now all the power he had left, up to the last drop, in a desperate attempt to stop the attackers. And if he failed and finally fell, at least he wouldn't have done it without offering a worthy resistance.  
The energy of the Vala then left his body and flowed through each wall and each stone of the fortress. After this it ran through the underground channels, permeating the surrounding land. And it kept flowing and meandering, until every corner of Beleriand was like an extension of his body, a throbbing piece of his own being. Even the soldiers of Angband felt the power of their master entering them, a rare sign of love before the end, which inspired them courage in the battle and composure against death.

Melkor had to sit down after the effort, exhausted, and when he had recovered his strenght in part, he concentrated all his hatred in the enemy, in the envoys of the Valar.  
In that moment, the earth under the feet of the Elves cracked open, and tongues of fire emerged from deep crevices. The pillars that kept Beleriand afloat began to waver, and the coasts were flooded under the torrents of seawater. The rivers changed their courses, mountains were levelled, and many of the invaders were killed due to earthquakes and floods. But even thus, Eönwë kept advancing relentlessly, with the bulk of his army behind.  
Seeing that the world was sinking in the middle of the last and impotent attack of their lord, a feeling of indifference towards life, and fear of what they would do to them if they were captured, seized the troops of Angband, so that many of the Orcs renounced everything, and jumped into the void of the cracks for fire to swallow them.  
Now the forefront of the attackers had almost reached the iron gates, and Sauron tried by all means that soldiers didn't leave their positions, waiting for a miracle.  
The Sun was eclipsed for a moment, and as he raised his head the Maia saw the hulking figure of Ancalagon the Black, the greatest dragon ever created, who stretched a pair of wings as the vault of the night sky.  
The dark shadow of Ancalagon flew towards the bright star in the sky, and there was a flash of red and an orange explosion, followed by a thunderclap that shook the whole earth. From the heights, the massive dragon plunged to the earth as a meteorite, burned by the light of the Silmaril, and landed on the tops of Thangorodrim. The whole mountain collapsed due to the impact of the monster, and Sauron fell to the ground due to the earthquake that came after. The great work that had taken them so much sweat, suffering and lives to raise, ceased to exist in one second, without anyone having a moment to regret it.

It was the end, the end of all things. A chasm opened at their feet, and there was nothing beyond. The void. Only a void that awaited for all of them to jump.  
It was not worth to resist any longer, no matter that Melkor had instructed them to die rather than yield. Sacrificing even the last of the pawns wouldn't change anything; now the only thing left was either fleeing or running to death without further opposition.  
In view of this, Sauron gave the order to retreat, and the few standing soldiers ran to safety into the fortress, followed by the lieutenant. The main gates were barred with as many beams and bolts as was possible, though everyone knew that it wouldn't last long.  
Angband was charged with the energy of the Vala, which initially had given more strength to the walls. But this energy began to fail as well, and as the spirit of Melkor sank, thus sank also the walls with him. A large crack had already appeared in the roof of the main hall, and some debris fell from the ceiling.  
A wounded Orc limped to the lieutenant and timidly touched his arm to get his attention.

-What are we going to do now, master? -he asked, with an expression that tried to be hopeful, but also afraid that the Maia had no plan whatsoever.

And indeed it was so. For the first time, the lieutenant of Angband had no plan at all.

-I don't know. I don't know what we're going to do. Run away, disperse, what else? We are the only ones alive: me and you, a handful of Orcs that bleed in the corners. The best thing ye can do is plead for mercy to the victorious troops of the Valar, and perhaps it will be granted to you.

The Orc shook his head vigorously.

-Please, master, not that. The Elves will torture us in the worst way possible and devour us alive if we surrender! They are a race without mercy! Let us accompany thee, lord Sauron. With thee as a leader we'll be safe.

But Sauron was categorical.

-No. I 'm no longer the leader of anyone, nor I am the lieutenant of anywhere. Angband doesn't exist anymore. So, ye are released from any obligation or loyalty towards me. Plunder whatever ye can and hide yourselves. Or else surrender. There is no other option. Farewell.

Then the Maia turned around and got away into the fortress. The Orcs saw disheartened how the black cape fluttered farther and farther and disappeared behind a column.  
There was only one thing left to do for Sauron as the former lieutenant of Angband. And the more he approached his destination, the more obvious was the ruin around him, a reflection of the ruin in the soul of his lord, still hidden in the heart of the building. Several walls collapsed when he passed them by, for no apparent reason and almost crushing him, though perhaps that would have been a relief.  
In the main hall, Melkor was kneeling on the floor beside his throne with his face buried in his hands, and didn't notice the presence of Sauron until he crouched by his side, and embracing him, made him stand up.  
Melkor was so weak that his legs barely supported him, and his eyes were wet and feverish. He hadn't kept a single atom of power for himself. The whole of him was now living in Arda, entirely and forever. But with that last gesture of anger and generosity he had exhausted his spirit once and for all.

-Sauron... how could we come to this? Why didn't we see it coming? –he muttered without strenght.

-I don't know, my Lord. But that doesn't matter anymore. The main thing now is getting to safety. Let's flee in the middle of the shadows. Let's take refuge in the South of Middle Earth, in deserted moors that the Valar don't know. And let's wait there for our time to rise from the ashes. I cannot allow thee to be imprisoned for another three ages as the last time!

Melkor smiled with sadness and stroked the cheek of the Maia with a hand as cold as that of a corpse.

-No, this time it won't be as the last time. This time is the last time. The Valar will never stop looking for me, not even if I hid under the last stone in the deepest cavern of Arda. And in the end they will find me, and it will be even worse. Besides Sauron, how could I escape, being like I am locked in this body, with this lame foot?

Sauron began to feel the most bitter swallow already coming down his throat. But still he refused to accept it, with childish obstinacy:

-My Lord, don't worry about that. I can change shape quite easily. I will turn into a giant bat and will bring thee through the airs wherever thou wantest. We will escape through a window and no one will see us, I assure thee!

The Vala shook his head.

-Do not insist, Sauron.

-Then command me to stay here with thee and suffer thy same fate. –and the Maia stood upright in front of him, as if he wanted to put down roots there and not move anymore.

-That's not what you told me that one time, remember? When I asked you what would you do if I was banished to the Void. At that time you told me that you wouldn't follow me, but would stay in Middle Earth to continue my legacy and make sure my name would never be forgotten.

-I said that without knowing what I said, my Lord! I had just made love to thee for the first time and was confused. It was a stupidity!

-No, you said that with your head. Who's talking now is your heart, Sauron, and I trust much more your reason than that. Also, this is what I want. This is what I command.

Despite his weakness, the Vala had spoken with aplomb, and upon looking into his eyes, Sauron discovered an iron determination. It was the Will of Melkor, and no creature on whom he had ever laid that glance, or on whom he had ever deposited his power, was able to act against that will. The Maia had no choice but to agree, even when inside his soul had cracked.  
The gates of Angband had fallen under a battering ram, and the tumult of the enemy troops was approaching the throne room.

-It's the hour, Sauron. You must leave. –said the Vala, with a strange serenity.- But first, I want to ask you one last thing.

-Of course, my Lord.

-Could you cry for me? I have never seen you crying, and I 'd like to think you loved me enough to do it now.

Sauron froze upon hearing the unusual order. And found out, with horror, that no matter how much he struggled, no matter how much love he felt then for Melkor, he was absolutely unable to cry. He, who had forced so many tears out of others, didn't know how to force them out of himself.  
For the first time, he who was lieutenant of Angband didn't know how to fulfill an order.  
The Vala smiled with warm affection and caressed him again. To Sauron it seemed that, despite his sadness, he was more beautiful at that moment than at any other of the past.

-Never mind, my lieutenant. You have a heart of ice, I know. That's why you were always my right hand; the only one that could temper my fire.

Then Melkor leaned on him and gave him a soft and bittersweet kiss, a farewell kiss that Sauron refused to recognize as such.  
When he separated from him, the Maia looked one last time into the black depths of his eyes, and kissed his hand gently.

-I will not say farewell, my Lord, since we will see again. Even if I have to change the entire shape of the world for it. –said the Maia, and vanished in a dark cloud.

Melkor showed signs of wanting to say something more, but he had been left alone.  
The clamour of the invaders resounded now at a short distance; in a few seconds all would be over. The Vala didn't want to look weak for the enemy and stood in place. But at the moment in which a horde of men armed with axes, swords and maces, burst into the throne room, Melkor had changed his mind and tried to escape through the other side of the room, seized by the irrationality of panic.  
It was to no avail, because right after he felt the weight of dozens of bodies coming at him and throwning him down, several calloused hands holding his members to the ground, and then an incredibly sharp and intense pain.  
The Vala writhed as if shaken by an electric current, and his mind went totally blank, until only his screams of suffering existed.  
When after a while that seemed like an eternity, the pain eased a little, he dared to open his eyes and look to the place where it came from. Those savage men had cut his feet down the ankles, and a puddle of black blood expanded over the flagstones permeating the room with its sweet smell.  
Melkor had the impression that he would faint then, but unfortunately, the nature of the Ainur was too strong for that.  
The man who had maimed him so brutally, came forward with the axe still dripping blood. He didn't seem as one of the Edain, but he and his followers must belong to those groups of almost wild men who lived in the mountains.

-So you are Morgoth, huh? The mighty god of Arda that has had Elves and Men in check for so long. I don't know why, I expected something else. Now that I see you lying there, you seem quite insignificant to me. –he scoffed, staring at him from top to bottom.

Melkor regretted having spread his power to the point of complete consumption; if it hadn't been so, he would have given to that insolent worm what he deserved. The man's visage turned grim then.

-You know what, Morgoth? Your Orcs raped and killed my wife and my daughter. And then they ate them. Now give me one single reason for us to be more merciful with you than what ever were your servants with us. -and saying this, the mountain man drew his sword and pressed the tip against the tender throat of the Vala.

Melkor swallowed. He felt extremely vulnerable enclosed in that body of flesh. Vulnerable and naked, as he had felt in the prison of Mandos or subdued by the legs of Ungoliant. But he couldn't give them the satisfaction of showing himself fearful:

-Fool! Have you forgotten that I am a god, the greatest of the spirits that were before the world? Your pathetic swords cannot kill me! –he snapped haughtily.

-Very true. We cannot kill you. But luckily, that's the only thing we cannot do. -and with a sly smile that disturbed Melkor, the man trailed with the sword down his body.

Through the thin fabric of the robe, his skin could feel perfectly the cold touch of steel. In that moment the bulk of the troops, from which had separated that group, burst as well into the throne room, and at the front came Eönwë. Most of the soldiers who followed him were not men in this case, but Vanyar.

-Stop right there, what are ye doing! –shouted the Maia, realizing the evil intentions of the men. And when he approached them and saw the mutilated feet, the herald paled with appallment.- What the... ? What have ye done, beasts!? Who has given you permission to torture the prisoner this way!?

Eönwë was visibly angry. The herald of Manwë was, above all, a tooth and nail advocate of rules, norms and protocol. And treating thus a defeated enemy, even if he was Morgoth Bauglir himself, the Black Foe of the World, was unacceptable in his particular system of right and wrong.

\- It's very easy for you, the Maiar and the High Elves, that have never left your idyllic Undying Lands and haven't suffered the ravages of the Enemy in your flesh. -complained the man, pulling the sword.- It's very easy to come here with your nice values and become shocked because we have abused him a bit. Ye do not know what Morgoth has made us suffer!

-I do not care! –roared Eönwë. –He's a prisoner and also one of the Valar, and as such, he will be treated with due decency and compassion! He shall not be tortured or abused, nor shall he be harassed. Even when we couldn't expect the same mercy on his part.

Melkor looked derisively to the herald: always so upright, so perfect, so blandly formal.

-Get lost, Eönwë! -snapped the Vala- I don't need your help.

-Yes, so I see... -said he, folding his arms.

He knew beforehand that the Morgoth against whom he had come to fight was no longer the powerful Ainu from the times of the Music, but neither could have ever imagined such a pitiful sight.  
He crouched then next to the enemy and put his blazing hands upon the wounds of the ankles. Melkor let out a groan, but the pain subsided enough and he stopped bleeding. After this the herald ordered the Vanyar of his entourage to bring the great chain Angainor, which the Vala knew so well, and with it they immobilized his body. The iron links holding his members were almost a relief compared to the hands of the men, who had pulled his limbs quite roughly. Melkor let them chain him submissively, knowing that, at least, as long as he was in the hands of Eönwë he would be safe.  
Much more painful than this, much more painful than the cutting of his feet, was the moment in which the Maia took the iron crown and released the Silmarils from it. The Vala tried to hold back, but eventually shed some tears upon seeing so sullied his dearest possession. Now he had been stripped of everything at last, now they had taken away from him even the last tiny bit of dignity. And in response to his affliction, the whole north wing of the fortress crumbled in that instant.  
On top of that, the crown was reforged and transformed into a collar (which perhaps it had been from the beginning) that was placed around his neck as if he was a dog, hooking up the end of Angainor on it. And finally a group of High Elves picked the prisoner up, who was much lighter than they thought, to take him to the ships.

-We will return to Valinor, Morgoth, which you should have never left. –announced Eönwë, and everyone went out the throne room.

Once the invaders had retired, and complete silence fell upon Angband, Sauron came out of hiding and glanced around. There was barely one stone upon another of what was once the most terrible and gigantic fortress of Middle Earth.  
Dejected, he walked around the halls that not long ago had been brimming with frenetic activity, with Orcs and trolls and busy Balrogs, and where now, however, nothing was heard but the sound of his boots stepping over debris and the water dripping from some broken pipes.  
Then the Maia heard a faint voice calling him, from behind the fallen capital of a column:

-Master, master, thou art well, thank goodness! -the bone helmet of his human servant peered over the stone, and a pair of fearful eyes glanced here and there before he ventured out.

Sauron was relieved upon seeing his Shadow alive, the only familiar presence in the midst of that nightmarish landscape, and he stroked him with affection.

-My little servant... How did you escape the carnage?

-Thanks to the spells that thou taughtest me, master. -and at that moment, the man's face was covered with a shade of concern and he lowered his head.- What happened with the lord Melkor?

-They have captured him. They brought him to trial in Valinor.

The lip of the Shadow trembled when he heard this. And suddenly he started crying heartbroken and threw at the feet of his master. Sauron stood frozen in place, without understanding anything.

-Oh, master, it's all my fault! I am a traitor, a despicable traitor! If it wasn't for me, Melkor would still be here and Angband would still be standing! –he sobbed among hiccups and choking.

The Maia shuddered unpleasantly at the word "traitor". That word was a lash in his conscience.

-What are you talking about!?

The man raised his eyes, red from crying, and hugged his knees.

-It's my fault that Melkor didn't recover his Silmaril! I had the opportunity to grab it after the death of Carcharoth in Doriath. But I chose not to do it, as revenge against Melkor for treating me so badly. And I lied, I lied to thee! And then... then... the Silmaril reappeared in the sky. If that Silmaril had never risen in the firmament, the troops from Valinor would not have come. And Melkor would not have been captured. And everything would be as before. I am a traitor, it's all my fault, all my fault!

Sauron felt a sharp pang of pain, and a mixture of hatred and disgust towards the pathetic creature that cringed at his feet. He might have expected such treachery in any other, but never in his Shadow, whose loyalty he had believed unswerving so far. It would have been very easy for him to crush his skull then.  
But there were other more urgent matters requiring his attention, and there had been enough deaths already. Besides, the sadness that filled him drowned all other feelings of anger and revenge. So, he grabbed the man's arm and put him on his feet before him.

-What you have done is unforgivable, and for many years you will bear the burden of guilt and remorse. –sentenced the Maia.- But you are wrong if you think that the fall of Melkor is simply due to the Silmaril in the sky. Melkor sealed his fate the moment he decided to destroy the two Trees and steal the jewels of Fëanor. His ruin is due only to his own actions, and there was nothing that you or I could do to change that. But despite everything, I still feel bound by obligation and duty towards him, and now I have to follow him to Valinor, as impossible as his rescue may be.

-I'll wait for thee here, master. And when thou returnest to Middle Earth I will follow thee wherever thou wantest, and with redeem my fault with eternal servitude.

\- No, you must not stay here. Beleriand is sinking and soon the sea will cover all the earth. Go now along with the victorious Edain, mingle with them and let them believe you're one of their own. Tell them you were a prisoner in Angband for many years, and that you have the scars on your back to prove it. Disguise your grief with the joy of the victor. But never forget who is your real master, and return to me when I need you. Go away now, fast.

The man nodded, wiping away the tears.  
And then, without warning, he jumped on the Maia and embraced him. Sauron was shocked and didn't know what to do, feeling against his ribs that bony little body that squeezed him, not wanting to leave.  
The Shadow finally separated, and after a last glance at the face of his master, whom he had adored so much, he ran away and got lost in the ruins of Angband.  
Sauron noticed some dampness in his shirt, on the spot where the man had buried his face soaked in tears. For that creature crying was so simple, while he had been unable to shed a single tear for Melkor, who supposedly he loved above all things.  
He would also bear the burden of that guilt and remorse for many years.  
But now it was time to head to the western lands upon which he had not set foot in many millennia.  
The infinite ocean opened before him, and its ruthless waters didn't promise to anyone the arrival at the abode of the gods, nor the return to home. Then Sauron took the shape of a seagull and flew away, always westward, always towards the door where the sun died.

At the confines of the world, beyond the rarefied waters of the outer sea, the whole council of the Valar had gathered to attend the final trial of Melkor. They had also allowed the presence of the Vanyar and Noldor of Aman, though these stood slightly apart.  
Melkor was kneeling in front of the semicircle of his brethren, with the iron collar still around his neck, and Eönwë held the chain Angainor, standing besides the Doors of Night. There was no joy in the faces of any of the Valar, despite the victory. Because what they saw there was the fall of one of them into utter abjection, the total degradation of all that was divine in the Ainur.  
And that reminded them of their own vulnerability, it painfully reminded them that perhaps they could be destroyed as well, that perhaps not even they were immortal. A disturbing thought.  
Melkor knew the sentence already, but in his desperation he was unable to accept it. There had to be a way out, there was always a way out, there was always a backup plan. He ran his eyes across the somber faces of the Powers of Arda, and his attention was captured at once by Manwë, in the center of all.  
His good brother Manwë, who looked at him sadly and was always willing to forgive.  
Melkor reached out his arms towards him:

-Oh Manwë, my dear brother! Are you going to let them do this to me? Were we not created as equal in the mind of Eru? In the beginning of all things we loved each other, remember! -and the rebellious Vala crawled painfully to his feet, with no other help but his arms.- Look, look what those savage men did to me! Is it perchance rightful that mortals mutilate thus an Ainu? And not just this they have done to me in Middle Earth! Watch, watch this too!

And opening his robe, Melkor showed them the scars caused by Fingolfin.  
There was a murmur of displeasure among those present upon seeing that disgraced flesh, upon seeing so graphically how Arda had triumphed over the spirit of a Vala, the greatest of them all, also. And Nienna and Yavanna even had to look away.  
Manwë contracted his face, hurt, and held out his hand as if to help him:

-Brother... -he muttered, with a lump in his throat.

But Varda stepped between them, and the harsh glare of her eyes made Melkor hiss.

-No, Manwë, don't let him deceive you again! This being before you is no longer your brother, but Morgoth, the Dark Enemy. He betrayed us once and he will do it again a million times over. You are too good, husband, and know not rancour. That is why he takes advantage of you. –the Queen of the Valar turned then to Melkor and said:- As for you, Morgoth, have some dignity and cover yourself. Nobody here wants to see your obscene wounds!

Melkor bit his lip with hatred, and given that there he wouldn't find any compassion, he decided to try with the one least expected by the others

-Tulkas, you tell them! You have always been my worst enemy, so they will listen to you! Tell them that this sentence is unjust and unnecessary, that it would be much better if they turned me into your slave! Think about it, Tulkas, what greater satisfaction for you and what greater humiliation for me than to serve you in all your desires? I will do anything you ask me, I will stoop down to the lowest level! But please, do not cast me into the Void, anything but THAT!

Tulkas looked uncertainly to the other attendees, looking for some clue to get out of that situation. He was a simple soul; the only emotions that he understood well were anger and joy. And whenever he had faced Melkor he had done it with anger, because he had come to him as a threat, or with insolence, or with bad intentions.  
But now that was to no avail, he could not beat his old enemy because he wasn't attacking him. He was shrunk before him, holding onto his ankles and begging for mercy, maybe even sobbing.  
And Tulkas felt no anger towards him; he felt pity.  
Thus, the fighter of the Valar decided it best to stay away. Very gently, as if he had qualms about touching him if just a little, pushed Melkor and moved him away from his feet.  
The rebellious Vala sat as a wreck, with no strength for anything else.  
It was useless, there was no way out, this time. But if nothing could be done to change his fate, at least he would like to have some comfort.  
He glanced back and watched the Walls of the World, that got lost in the heights of infinity. They were the most resistant and indestructible walls throughout Arda, and yet had the tenous appearance of air and ice. The basalt dragons that guarded the ominous Doors of Night exhaled a cold and ghostly smoke, like the smoke from a dream of poppies.  
How strange was everything in that side of the world! He didn't know why, the place produced him a mixture of solitude and distant memory.  
He thought he had been there once, in a dream perhaps, eons ago.  
Then his eyes fell on Lórien, situated at one end of the semicircle. The Lord of Dreams made a faint smile of complicity and gestured to him to come closer.  
When he took a step back, Lórien revealed the tall black figure of his brother Mandos, who stood apart from the rest. Melkor made one last effort and crawled to the Judge, his last hope, and there he remained crouching under his shadow, waiting for compassion from whom didn't have any.

-Mandos... You pronounce the sentence, so I'm entirely in your hands: don't separate me from the circles of Arda, don't take me where I cannot feel it. Only this I ask, for the rest I don't care anymore. Lock me in your halls if you want! But this time not for three ages, but until the world is broken and redone. I do not care. And if my body ever gave you some pleasure, I also give it to you, to enjoy it as you please. Humiliation is irrelevant.

Melkor's voice broke, and two tears fell down his cheeks. Then, to the amazement of all present, the cold and impassive Judge of the Valar crouched beside the condemned and caressed his head, addressing him by his old name:

-Do not cry, Melkor, and do not say such foul things. Do you think that I would like to have you chained for all eternity and use you as an object?

-You already did in the past! What difference makes one more time? You said... you said that you hated me, that you didn't like me and thus...

-I know what I said. And that was what you had to hear at that moment. But I don't hate you, Melkor; I have no enemies, nor I have friends. Death shouldn't know about favouritism. Just once I made an exception, and this was because it was commanded by a higher power than mine. In a similar way, your sentence now is commanded by that same power and there is nothing I can do about it. It doesn't depend on me, Melkor. You understand, right?

The rebellious Vala nodded, and Mandos wiped his tears with the back of his hand.

-What will happen with me now?

-I don't know, Melkor. If I knew I would tell you. But within my power it's only to see certain things of the fate of the world, and beyond this moment your future appears in black for me. However, not all changes must be bad. Changes are always frightening but... maybe something good can be drawn from them.

Melkor looked up, puzzled by his words, and Mandos leaned over him and gave him a departure kiss on the lips. A kiss that didn't burn him this time, but seemed comforting. The other Valar, except Lórien, looked away disturbed while the kiss lasted. They knew that the Fëanturi were eccentric at the least, but that didn't mean that their actions were less awkward for them.

-Well, the time has come. –announced Mandos.

Eönwë approached the condemned, again hooking up the chain on the collar, and dragged him toward the dark Doors of Night, which began to open as the setting sun plunged into the sea. Melkor had promised himself, once reached this point, that he would remain serene and at least leave Arda with dignity.  
But when he saw the impenetrable blackness looming over his head, the jaws of nothingness preparing to engulf him, terror seized him. And the Vala writhed helplessly and clawed at the ground till blood came out, and he cursed his brethren and Eru, and his cries were heard even in the farthest corner of Arda.  
But it was useless.

Manwë had his face buried in his hands, not daring to look at the execution, and Nienna wept on the shoulder of Yavanna.  
However, when Melkor, the one who was the Mighty Arising, the one who was the greatest of the Valar, was thrown into the Void and expelled for ever from the circles of the world, his most faithful servant was not there to see it.

All this time, Sauron had stayed mingled among the Noldor, with the appearance of a normal Elf, and no one had payed attention to him. But now he fled from the congregation, no longer caring about the suspicions of others or that they captured him.  
And there was something wet running down his cheek.  
Upon arriving at the outer sea, the Maia threw himself into the depths and let that uninhabited water, thin as air, drag him away. Anywhere, he didn't care.  
After reaching the shores of Aman, he wandered for many days through the lands that once were so familiar, but now were alien to him.  
And thus he became lost in the forest, and coming to a clearing, he sat on a stump that was there in the middle and lay still. So, he remained in silence for a long time, empty of thoughts and emotions, knowing that if he dared to think or feel something, he would be broken forever and would never regain his sanity.  
In this state, and still with the appearance of a Noldo, Eönwë found him one afternoon.  
The herald asked him some questions and Sauron answered mechanically to all. He also commanded him something, to which he agreed. Later he was unable to remember anything of what they had talked about, but whatever it was, Eönwë had gone away satisfied, so it didn't matter.

Gradually, Sauron started coming out of his stupor and assumed the fact, obnoxious but unavoidable, that his master was not there anymore and now it was his duty to re-build the empire.  
Thus, he recovered his usual shape, and the first thing he did was going to the halls of Mandos, that were not far, as there were many questions that the Judge had to answer. He found the house of the dead without problems, at the edge of a melancholic cliff that looked towards the sea and the walls of night. The sound of the crashing waves gave the place a sense of loneliness that must had not been very different from the loneliness of dead.  
Sauron knocked on the black marble doors, but they didn't open.  
He should have imagined it; nobody gets in or out of Mandos without the approval of the Judge. In fact, some of them never go out.  
Frustrated, the Maia glanced around and then discovered the halls of Vairë behind a grove of gloomy cypresses. In this case the door was open, but no one was there.  
In the interior of the house, space was distorted in a strange way, so that it was much bigger inside than outside.  
Sauron felt overwhelmed by the endless rows of tapestries that represented the fate of the world from the beginning. The tapestries had been grouped according to the people or race whose history they told. Thus some corridors had the label of "Noldor", with a special section devoted to the sons of Fëanor. Other corridors corresponded to the Edain, or to the Dwarves, or to the Valar of Aman, or to the Wood-elves.  
Sauron walked with curiosity along the various rows, and finally stopped in front of a sign that read "Angband". There were grouped all the events related to Melkor, or himself, or any of the servants of the Dark Lord.  
There, efectively, he found an answer to one of the doubts that had arisen during the trial. In one of the tapestries, Melkor appeared naked and lying on the floor of a prison, loaded with chains, and Mandos embraced him from behind. The title of the tapestry said simply: "Melkor is deflowered". And judging just by the image, he couldn't figure out if that encounter was forced or consensual. His lord had his eyes closed and seemed to moan, but whether out of pleasure or pain, he didn't know.  
Sauron sighed with sorrow, understanding that Melkor had lied to him and concealed that fact for many years. Though on the other hand, that didn't matter too much now, and certainly it mattered less for Melkor than for anyone else.  
The Maia continued walking along the corridor, looking at the tapestries that revealed to him so many unknown things or that reminded him of so many familiar things.  
There were anodyne scenes and scenes of great battles, happy scenes and sad scenes, and also intimate scenes that should have never been witnessed by others. He saw Orcs fighting over the chain mail of a dead, saw Gothmog drinking a whole barrel of beer to the acclaim of his Balrogs, saw himself torturing a prisoner, and also kissing the navel of his lord, saw Melkor looking sadly out a window.  
All the scenes had been woven by Vairë with the same love and impassiveness, and all carried a laconic and neutral title.  
At the end of the gallery, Sauron ran into the trial scene that he had witnessed so recently, and again it was as if someone had reopened a wound and dug with a dagger in it. He quickly averted his eyes and hurried down the corridor.  
No tapestry told about the fate of Melkor after being thrown into the Void, since that was no longer part of the history of Arda.  
But in the last tapestry of the row, Sauron watched himself in a scene in which he looked at that same tapestry in front of him. The sign only said: "Sauron looks at the tapestries" and a cold shiver ran down his spine.  
Horrified, the Maia fled the halls of Vairë at full speed.  
Could it be that everything was already written and woven even before it had happened?  
Did it matter then what he did or did not do?

The Maia ran eastward until he lost sight of the west coast and the halls of Mandos. He should return as soon as possible to Middle Earth. That wasn't his place, and also they could be searching for him to condemn him. And that wasn't what Melkor wanted, though maybe it was what he wanted himself.  
But before leaving the Undying Lands, there was one last place that Sauron wanted to visit, and where he hoped to find some peace for his tormented soul.

The gardens of Lórien opened before him with their tangled trees, their labyrinths that led to nowhere, their fluorescent mushrooms that hung from the most unexpected places, and their beds of blue poppies bathed in the glow of twilight. The air was thick with the cloying scent of resin and the nectar of strange flowers. And from the shadows, multicoloured frogs watched the visitor before disappearing into their pools.  
After a while, a pleasant drowsiness began to invade the Maia, and he felt that all his problems were gradually easing as he stepped into the thicket.  
In the center of the gardens, and kneeling besides a small pond, Sauron found an old acquaintance.  
Melian had her back to him, with her long black hair flowing over the grass, and played with her fingers in the water.

-Greetings, Mairon. -she said, without looking at him.

Sauron became a little tense upon hearing that name.

-Don't call me thus. No one calls me thus anymore.

Melian turned around, and fixed on him a gaze halfway between sadness and reproach.

-I call you thus, because that's the name by which I knew you.

-A lot of things have changed since then. And I have changed with them. You would be horrified if you knew some of the acts that I have committed.

-Tell me the worst.

-The worst is yet to come, for my revenge will be terrible. All will pay for what they did to my Lord. -replied Sauron with determination.

Melian smiled:

-You're hurt right? All that suffer end up coming here. The gardens of Lórien numb the pain, but neither you nor I will recover what we have lost. Never. It's ironic that, despite being enemies, we have so much in common and have ended in the same place. Perhaps we should have married each other, after all.

This time it was Sauron who smiled, but with bitter sarcasm.

-I never loved you, Melian.

\- And that is precisely why we should have married. Because we didn't love each other. In the end, we would have suffered less.

-What does it mean, "didn't love each other"? Forgive me, but I thought that you loved me indeed. Was it not out of spite, why you fled to Middle Earth and seduced that poor Elf, that little toy king with whom you had so much fun? At least I hope he was better in bed than his kinsman Finrod, that I made mine in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Didn't they tell you?

Melian frowned at these hurting words.

-You never liked Thingol, did you?

\- I think you deserved more.

-Do you think I am that good? Apparently, not good enough for a Maia of Aulë. But whatever, maybe I deserved more than Thingol, King of the Sindar, and you deserved less than Melkor, the Mighty Arising. In any case, both of us made the wrong choice and we're paying for it now. But do not think for a second that I have not loved my husband. Yes, it's true that after Lúthien fled from Doriath our relationship grew quite cold. I always blamed on him the fact that our daughter had been put in danger and had given up her immortality. And it's also true that in recent times Thingol was more in love with himself than with me. Still, I have loved him every single day I spent in Menegroth, with every fibre of my being. And I still love him.

-Good for you. –snapped Sauron, twisting his mouth.- Good for you that might see again your little king someday, when he leaves Mandos. But what about me, huh? Do I have hopes of seeing my Lord again? Perchance you think that I didn't love him!? I'm not going to show compassion for you, Melian, just as none of the Valar showed compassion for Melkor. You don't understand my pain.

Then the face of Melian darkened and her green eyes betrayed a barely contained rage:

-That I don't understand your pain!? How dare you to say that? I haven't just lost my husband! I have also lost my daughter! And I have lost her in a much more definitive way than you have your master, for she died as a mortal and now is there where only men are allowed to go. Do you know perchance the pain of losing a child? No, you don't know it, nor will ever! That is a pain that only a mother can fully experience; it's our privilege, and our doom. But what do you know about that, Mairon? What do you know about anything!?

And Melian turned around, angry, and focused her attention on the pond once more.  
Sauron felt ashamed, and didn't know what to say. It didn't seem as his old enemy wanted to talk with him more. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Sauron finally cleared his throat and added:

-I'm leaving for Middle Earth.

Melian turned her head slightly, and beneath the dim light that filtered the trees, her face looked very tired.

-Fine, Mairon. Return to Middle Earth, and to your little wars, and to your plans of conquest. There's nothing there that interests me anymore.

-Are you going to denounce my escape to the Valar?

-No. You know I won't. I'm not like the others. I never was.

Sauron nodded pensively, and before disappearing among the trees, he wanted to say a few last words of farewell, knowing that he would never see the Maia again:

-Goodbye, Melian. You were one of my worst enemies in Beleriand. And my only friend in Valinor. For both things I appreciate you. I just wanted you to know.

Melian made a gesture of farewell with her hand, but said nothing more. And Sauron went back the way he had come.

Middle Earth had become much smaller.  
Standing in front of the calm sea, Sauron could hardly believe that those waters hid in their depths so many kingdoms, mountains, forests and lives.  
Was that how was doomed to end the splendour of kings? Under the indifferent waves and the cries of seagulls? Who feared now the sheer peaks and the fire of Thangorodrim?  
And somewhere, the throne of Melkor should still rest, covering itself with algae and sheltering anemones.  
The Maia closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists, about to burst with rage.  
Those cowardly Valar... ! They hadn't even deigned to come themselves this time. No, they had sent a lackey, and those poet Elves from Taniquetil who had not held a sword in their life, and a handful of uncivilized men. Not even the opportunity to have a honourable fall had they given Melkor.  
At least the Noldor and the Edain were worthy opponents during the war years, real soldiers. But where were now the brave, the true warriors? All dead and buried. As Beleriand. Only the cowards and mediocres had survived to reap the fruits of victory.  
It was often thus.  
Sauron looked to the West, bathed in the golden glow of the sun while Middle Earth sank into the shadows, and cursed the sea and the land on the other side of it:

-The ruin that ye have brought to my heart, I will bring to you three times doubled. This I swear now in the name of my Lord, whom ye snatched from me: that there will be no peace for Elf, Man or Dwarf, not even when Eru himself placed his hand on Arda to stop me.

And that said, he directed his gaze toward the misty mountains that lay to the East, and got under way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you that have read the Book of Lost Tales, may have noticed that I took many things from it for the parts about the fall of Doriath and Gondolin. Specially the names Ufedhin (the Noldo who plotted with the Dwarves to steal the Silmaril) and Naugladur, the king of Nogrod.
> 
> I deviated a bit from canon in the meeting of Sauron and Eönwë. That was clearly intended to happen in Middle Earth, but I wanted Sauron to witness his master's fall, and thought that the story would work better this way.


	5. The Tyrant in the Golden City

_An island good to land upon,  
Although 'tis rather bare.  
Come, leave the sea! And let us run,  
Or dance, or lie down in the sun!  
See, gulls are sitting there!  
Beware!  
Gulls do not sink._

-Fastitocalon (The Adventures of Tom Bombadil)

 

In the days in which Men began to thrive, when a large island was offered to them as a gift for their efforts in the war, and their lives became longer, and their kings richer and mightier, in those days, Sauron roamed Middle Earth as the humblest of the vagabonds. Often being but a faint shadow, he went unnoticed by most, and many thought that he was finished, even destroyed. It was a typical weakness of Men to judge things by their appearance only. But who could reproach them for their folly when even the gods were blind sometimes?  
Thus, free of chains and surveillance, the Maia explored the darkest corners of the earth, and by the passing of his shadow, the Orcs were unsettled, and the sleepy desire for blood and war awoke again in their hearts. Few were those that did not heed the call of their former master and followed him, between fearful and hopeful, to the land that he had chosen as his new abode.  
  
Mordor was a huge plain, waste and barren, protected on all sides by hostile mountains, and halfway between the enemy kingdoms of the West, and the not so unfriendly kingdoms of the East and South. Its characteristics were so suitable, that Sauron could hardly believe that those lands had been formed by chance. So he liked to think that they appeared when his Lord scattered his power throughout Arda before being captured, and that they were a last token of his love.  
This was what Sauron would have wanted to believe, though of course, deep down he knew that it was nothing but the delusion of someone who still clings to the past. And this was not the time to look back, but forward, to the future and the unknown.  
Thus, amid the desolate plain, Sauron named himself the new Dark Lord, the new Enemy of Elves, Men and Dwarves. Orcs and trolls began to pour through the mountain passes, in ever greater numbers, and swore loyalty to him as they had swore to Melkor. Then the sweet sound of the whip sounded again in his ears, but not just that of his, as before, but of thousands of them that cracked in unison, guided by his will rather than his hand. And with the pain of slaves and countless deaths, over many years that meant nothing to him, his new fortress began to rise stone on stone. Barad-dûr would it be called, and Sauron wanted it to be very different from Angband.  
The fortress of Melkor had been like a natural outgrowth of the field, an unstable boiler of fire that grew and changed shape over time, as volcano explosions destroyed some parts and solidified lava formed new structures. In many ways, Angband had been a living being, throbbing and pregnant with the lives of many other creatures, always in motion and always unpredictable. Thus had been Melkor, after all.  
But Sauron did not want that; he wasn’t his Lord nor would he ever be, he couldn’t beat him at his own game. So he chose the option most appropriate to his character: a narrow and vertical tower, sober and severe, which imposed respect and fear rather than irrational panic. And each level of the tower would be structured and organized according to rank: the inferior captains in the lower floors, the superior in the upper ones. And his quarters at the pinnacle that topped the tower.  
He didn’t want to lock himself in the depths of Arda, nor be in touch with its undercurrents of life and death, as Melkor had done. He wanted to be on the uppermost point to monitor the surrounding lands, to draw boundaries in his head, to make sure the legions marched in correct formation. Whether he liked it or not, he would be always a lieutenant rather than a king, he would be always a ruler, but not a god.  
All of this, however, was still far away. For now Mordor was more a project than a reality (though a project that progressed quickly), and its power was still too weak to confront the Western nations. It wasn’t sensible to start an open war, but rather get the lay of the land, discover the weaknesses of the enemy and, in due time, hit them there where it hurted the most.  
Those were times of diplomacy, and in diplomacy, as in any other negotiation, interests were achieved with deception and half-truths, never with sincerity.  
  
Therefore, Sauron decided to make a little visit to the Elves, and he did so with the most charming of his disguises.  
He had confirmed already what could be achieved just with a beautiful face, although this time he didn’t wish to inspire compassion, but rather reverence and admiration. He would give himself such a dazzling appearance, that everyone would be blinded and unable to guess the blackness of his soul, as someone who, looking directly at the sun, fails to see the big fireball that forms its core.  
For once he preferred to give his hair a golden colour, instead of the usual raven black. Dark hair had been tied irrevocably to the Noldor and their excesses in the war, while everyone still remembered the blond hair of the Vanyar saviours. That would make him more trustworthy in the eyes of the majority.  
  
He spent much time preparing this disguise and getting used to it. He didn’t want any other accident as in the tower of Orodreth. When he was ready, he left for the realm of Lindon, the only piece of Beleriand that had been spared by the raging sea.  
He expected to gain the trust of Gil-galad, the new High King of the Elves in Middle Earth: an upstart of whom no one had heard before. However, the new king turned out to be much more cautious and much less hospitable than he had imagined, and all the doors of his cities closed before him.  
Without losing his composure after this initial failure, Sauron focused his interest in the next most important kingdom of the Noldor.  
A while ago, a group of these Elves had settled near the Misty Mountains, at the very gates of the great palace of the Dwarves, in the land known as Eregion. They were skilled goldsmiths and lovers of jewels, ambitious and led by a descendant of Fëanor.  
If there was a place where the words of an old Maia of Aulë could be listened to carefully, it was there.  
  
It didn’t take him much effort to go inside the city, and thus one night, the tavern where the select group of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain met, received an unusual visit.  
At the moment the Maia set foot in the doorway, all the eyes turned toward him and the beer mugs stopped in the air, halfway between the table and the lips of the attendees.  
  
-I’m searching for Celebrimbor, the lord of this place. Aulë sends me from Valinor with a gift for him. -he announced, in a voice that sounded strangely sweet to him.  
  
There was a general stir, and in many tables arose heated discussions in a low voice. But someone at the back of the room hushed the murmur with a simple hand gesture, and Sauron distinguished a serious and stout Elf, quietly sitting befor his beer mug. He was surrounded by a group of blacksmiths, still stained with some rests of soot after a hard day of work, just like him.  
The aura of authority that gave off that Elf was almost palpable.  
  
-I am Celebrimbor, stranger. But I don’t remember having recently talked with Aulë. And indeed, I don’t remember when was the last time the Vala sent me a gift. –he snapped, and many snickered.  
  
Sauron approached the table in the back, not caring whether he was welcome or not, and bowed politely in front of the Noldorin lord.  
  
-Allow me to introduce myself: I am Annatar, Lord of Gifts, a Maia of the powerful blacksmith of the Valar.  
  
Celebrimbor examined him from head to toe, but if he had been dazzled by his beauty, his impassive face didn’t betray it.  
  
-You look like a Maia, no doubt, but I don’t know if that's good or bad. Lately the only Maiar that had been seen around Middle Earth were Balrogs and slaves of Morgoth. Decent Ainur, you know, usually do not drop by here.  
  
Sauron similed with calculated shyness. That Celebrimbor was going to be a tough nut to crack. But he liked challenges.  
  
-I understand thy distrust, my lord. But honestly, do I look like a Balrog? The Maiar of Morgoth are all dead or disappeared, and I’ve heard they are terrible to gaze at.  
  
Celebrimbor snorted with what seemed to be an ironic statement, and offered him a chair in front of him.  
  
-Sometimes, my dear Annatar, beauty is even more terrible to gaze at. But sit down. If you are really a Maia of Aulë we have much to talk about.  
  
Sauron took a place among those stonemasons, and felt at once how those around him were filled with fearful fascination and began to stir nervously.  
All but their imperturbable lord.  
  
-Well, where is that gift that Aulë sends me? –asked Celebrimbor taking a sip of beer.  
  
-Thou hast it in front of thee.  
  
His interlocutor held the sip for a second upon hearing this.  
  
-What did you say?  
  
-Yes, my lord. Aulë sends me to assist and instruct thee in the secrets of the earth. News about thy exceptional ability have reached the ears of the Valar, and many speak of thee as of the reincarnation of Fëanor himself. Truly, if I didn’t know that his spirit remains in Mandos, I'd be tempted to think so: thou art his spitting image.  
  
-I'm the spitting image of my father, Curufin. It was he who resembled more my grandfather, not me. But I will take your compliments simply as what they are: a kind way to please me, though insincere. However, you say you come to instruct us, and it seems very generous of you. But before accepting your help, I have to check if you really have something to teach us. We the Gwaith-i-Mírdain already know many secrets, you know.  
  
Sauron lowered his new honey-coloured eyes, and blushed a little.  
  
\- Of course, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I’m willing to undergo any test to show you that everything I say is true.  
  
-Excellent, Annatar. If it’s so, then let us now rest for a while and enjoy our drinks, and later I'll tell you what I have in mind.  
  
The Maia nodded and waited patiently. When the time came, Celebrimbor and his goldsmiths rose from the table and left the tavern followed by the newcomer, among the whispers of admiration from the presents.  
After this, Sauron was taken to the workshop of Celebrimbor, immaculately tidy if it wasn’t for the multitude of sculptures, jewels and precious stones that piled without enough space between those four walls.  
A sculpture in particular caught his attention: an Elven maiden of marble who wore a green stone on her breast. Her expression revealed an obstinated determination, but also some derision painful to look at.  
After a second glance, Sauron discovered that the same maiden repeated herself in many other sculptures and carvings, and always, no matter her attitude, reappeared the same disdain towards the observer.  
Then Celebrimbor approached his desk and showed him a rough diamond, amorphous and as big as a fist.  
  
-This is what you must do, Annatar. To convince me that you are truly a Maia of Aulë, you’ll have to carve this diamond. You will do it in parallel to its axis, but without a single one of its layers coming off. And you won’t carve it as it’s usual with gems. You’ll have to create a figure, an unique and exceptional figure, that encloses part of the ancient magic. And deliver it to me in three days.  
  
Sauron reached for the stone that was offered to him. Diamond cutting was particularly complex, not just because of their hardness. Every goldsmith knew that a chisel blow well given, cut a diamond neatly in two. A blow badly given, shattered it in thousands of pieces.  
  
-What thou art asking me is almost impossible.  
  
-All that is possible, I already know how to do it and I don’t need you to show me. I have to ask you then what it’s nearly impossible. Regarding the utterly impossible... well, that only Eru can do. -replied the Elf.  
  
Sauron smiled gently, and his teeth shone more than any diamond that was there.  
  
-Do not worry. I'll give thee thy unique and exceptional figure.  
  
That way, during three days Sauron devoted himself to the complex and painstaking work of shaping the stone.  
And at the end of the deadline, he emerged from the small auxiliary workshop that Celebrimbor had lent him, with the promised piece.  
  
The lord of Eregion looked stunned at the diamond that the Maia had placed in his hand: a crystalline rose, perfectly carved in each petal and each spine, that enclosed within three drops of dew, with the moonlight still flickering inside. And despite being made of hard diamond, the rose seemed as alive as any other that grew in a garden, and the dew moved in a fey way inside its structure, as if it rained perpetually on its petals.  
  
-I've wanted to unite in a single work the knowledge of my Lord Aulë and the vitality of his kindly wife Yavanna. -explained Sauron- This rose represents all that is perennial and ephemeral in the world: the diamond that nothing can scratch and the tender flower that breaks with the slightest breeze. Your life as well, Celebrimbor, may be fragile as a stem, but the works that you will create with me if you accept my help, will last in the world and memory as the hardest of gems.  
  
And when the Noldo looked up at him, he saw so much wisdom and affection and warmth in the face of the Maia, that his heart was won at that very instant. How could a being so beautiful, able to create such beauty, be anything but a noble Ainu? Morgoth hadn’t created anything admirable ever. And besides, he hated flowers.  
  
\- I accept you, Annatar. - muttered Celebrimbor, and this time he couldn’t hide completely the effect that the Maia produced upon him.  
  
From that moment on, Sauron worked side by side with the Elf, teaching him all kinds of mysteries about the depths of the earth, that filled his pupil with wonder but were insignificant for him. The two became inseparable, and over the whole land of Eregion word was spread about the charming and generous Annatar, loved and respected by all.  
By all except one person, actually.  
A Noldorin lady who, like her brothers before, seemed determined to make things difficult for Sauron. Her name was Galadriel, and although she didn’t have her own kingdom, she came and went wherever she pleased and always took possesion of any place that she set her feet upon, with or without reason.  
Sauron soon realized that this was the lady whom Celebrimbor sculpted so obsessively, although her visage didn’t have the disdainful expression of the statues. That expression had been added by Celebrimbor himself, perhaps unconsciously.  
Of course, Galadriel was obstinated, even stubborn, but never disdainful. Unless, of course, she had Annatar in front of her. For those times, she looked at him with such hatred and contempt, that it could be only understood as a frustrated attempt to magically murder him, without even touching him.  
The other Noldor felt scandalized by these signs of disrespect, but Sauron couldn’t help but laugh to himself: that lady reminded him so much of Melian...  
  
On the other hand, he had no reason to worry, because even though Galadriel had still some influence on Celebrimbor, he was completely under his spell. And long ago Sauron had laid plans for his apprentice, important plans.  
In moonless nights, and safe from the gaze of strangers, the Maia had lied on the ground and then had felt the energy of his Lord running through the veins of Arda, and making him shudder with pleasure when it entered him. And much had he thought about the dispersion of the power of Melkor, and how this had weakened him at the end to unsuspected extents. So Sauron also began to question what would happen if, instead of dispersing the power across the vast land, this was concentrated. If this was concentrated in a minuscule object, as small as great was Arda.  
And the conclusion he reached was inescapable: if dispersion divided the power until making it insignificant, concentration of that same power had to multiply it by necessity. It was a matter of pure and simple mathematics, and numbers had never failed Sauron.  
  
With this in mind, he approached Celebrimbor one morning while he worked in his workshop. The Elf was so engrossed in the carving of a ruby, that he didn’t even notice him coming closer, and Sauron put his hands on his shoulders gently to not startle him.  
  
-My dear Celebrimbor, I have to propose you something. -he whispered, leaning over his ear.  
  
The Elf felt the long and slender fingers of the Maia stroking him through his shirt and shivered, turning around at once and facing him with a sullen expression.  
  
-Don’t scare me like that, Annatar. And leave me some space; you know already that I don’t like being smothered. -Sauron moved away condescending.- What do you want to propose me?  
  
-A new project, one that will take us a long time to complete, but that will give us such an enduring fame, that it will be well worth the effort. You've already learned everything one can learn about creating beauty. In that aspect, my teachings have been exhausted. How would you like learning to create "power" then, learning to create magic inside objects? And I don’t mean those illusions and spells the ye Elves put on your works sometimes. I mean real power, the primeval power that is infused in Arda, that which is only available to the Valar.  
  
Celebrimbor frowned.  
  
-I don’t know, Annatar... That doesn’t sound very orthodox.  
  
Sauron let out a singsong laugh, and shook his head in a good mood.  
  
-Oh, my dear, dear Celebrimbor! It’s we the Ainur who decide precisely what is orthodox and what is not, it’s we who create the rules. Could the will of the Valar be evil, when they are the source of all good in Arda?  
  
-I guess not... -snorted the Noldo, still furrowing. Sauron took a tentative step toward him.  
  
-And thought your grandfather Fëanor about orthodoxy when he created the greatest of the works of the Eldar, the immortal Silmarils? Rules are for the mediocre! You are above them. -Celebrimbor looked away, uncomfortable, but Sauron grabbed his chin and lifted his face so their eyes met.- And you know you're not like the others, you know you're great. But I've never seen you smile. There is an old pain in your heart, and you try to hide it by building a gemstone shell around it. Why? Why do you persist in being Celebrimbor the sullen, Celebrimbor the harsh and lonely? Why don’t you let me help you to achieve your dreams?  
  
-My dreams are out of the reach of your help, or of that of anyone else. And I don’t wish to talk about them. Tell me then what you have in mind.  
  
-Rings. Rings of power. –replied Sauron with a seductive smile, and grabbing the Elf's hand, he placed his palm against his.- Rings that will represent a union based on mutual trust and affection: the union of your spirit and mine.  
  
Sauron then interwined his fingers with those of Celebrimbor, and the Elf felt the stream of power that throbbed within the Maia. When he looked into his eyes, he had the impression that behind those friendly irises with the colour of honey, burned a dangerous flame.  
But this illusion lasted only an instant, and vanished quickly.  
  
Thus began the forging of the sixteen rings in Eregion. And the works went on for countless years, since the power deposited in them was one so deep and volatile, that the Elves could barely contain it within the small objects.  
There was no doubt that the Gwaith-i-Mírdain were exceptionally skilled, more than most of the Noldor, but Sauron soon realized that working with them was going to be much more difficult and tedious than raising dragons with Melkor.  
For the Vala that would have been a child's play; for the Elves, an arcane and incomprehensible experiment that only went ahead thanks to the help of Annatar and their own efforts.  
Sauron oversaw the forging of each and every one of the rings, and in all of them he left a little part of his power. Enough to tie them to his spirit forever, but not so much that the loss was significant.  
And during whole hours he stayed in the workshop with Celebrimbor, the hands of both joined over any one of the rings, until their energies merged into one and penetrated the hard metal, turning it red-hot and making it hiss. Then the Elf was forced to put away his hand to not burn it, and was left tired and confused, as if he had contracted a fever after touching something infectious.  
  
With the passing of time, a change began to take place on him, and the great master of blacksmiths stopped eating and drinking as much as in the past, and his face turned gaunt, and his expression became surly and self-absorbed. The forging of the rings consumed his time and his body, and Sauron congratulated himself for it.  
However, the Elf also began to avoid the Maia, and sometimes he disappeared for several days, without Sauron ever guessing where he went.  
  
Galadriel, meanwhile, visited Eregion less frequently than before.  
The last time the Maia saw her it was in the courtyard of Celebrimbor, where both were arguing, not knowing that they were watched by a third one:  
  
-What happened to you? You were not so before. -said the Elf-lady, with the same bewildered and incredulous face that her brother Finrod had shown upon sitting at the table with Sauron, back in Tol-in-Gaurhoth.  
  
-How so? -snapped Celebrimbor- Explain yourself!  
  
-So! So stubborn, so harsh, hostile, proud! I cannot believe that the same brave and honest Noldo who dared to defy his father for a just cause, for my brother, will treat his friends thus now and won’t listen to the advice of those who love him well.  
  
-As far as I know, Galadriel, I've always treated you well at my home, and I have hosted you for longer than a guest should stay out of decorum. Regarding those who love me well... I don’t know, the last time we talked about that, your answer was that you only loved Celeborn, that Dark Elf of the woods. If I remember correctly.  
  
She rolled her eyes at this, and sighed with resignation.  
  
-Then it’s all about that? Look, Celebrimbor, I don’t want to talk about that now. I 'm just trying to warn you about that Annatar from whom you never separate. Trust my instinct: someone who takes such an outrageously beautiful appearance, must only do it to hide the ugliness he has inside. And what ye are making is dangerous, those rings with that ancient power. There is something unnatural about it.  
  
-Oh! So when the jewels I forge are not for you, then they are dangerous and unnatural, isn’t it? I didn’t hear you complain when I gave you that green stone with the rays of the Sun, the Elessar.  
  
-That was different. The corruption of Annatar wasn’t present at that time.  
  
Until now Sauron had been watching the reactions of Celebrimbor, how he had been charging with tension, getting increasingly red, clenching his fists with increasing force, and in that moment, came the explosion that he had been waiting. The flammable temper of the master blacksmith was legendary in Eregion, and more than once he had been seen furiously throwing his hammer against the wall of the workshop, not caring if he broke some sculpture or some head in the process.  
  
-How dare you talk about corruption!? –he roared, and Galadriel stepped back a little intimidated- How dare you talk about Annatar without even knowing him!? He has given me more than most of those here, he has given me a mission and a purpose to my life! And his beauty is not a disguise, it’s a reflection of his soul. Or what is it, Galadriel? Are you perchance jealous? Do you want to have me all for yourself: the poor admirer who has to be content with fluttering around and never getting close? Well, that's over! Because I’m going to be very great, do you hear me? I 'm going to do something for which I will be remembered by all the peoples of Middle Earth, for all ages that will come after this. And I don’t need you, I don’t even need Annatar. No, because I have forged three other rings, I alone. And they are more powerful than the rest, and Annatar hasn’t touched them, if that's what you're worried about.  
  
Sauron 's attention was then suddenly aroused, and the conversation that a second ago was just a mere amusement, turned into something serious and disturbing for him.  
Galadriel had lowered her head, and staring at the floor she bit her lip sadly:  
  
-You want to be like your grandfather, Celebrimbor. You want to be as Fëanor, right?  
  
-And even more than him!  
  
-And have you forgotten all the evils that his actions brought to this world? The deaths, the wars? Your fallen relatives, my fallen relatives? What my poor brothers suffered because of that stupid gem. The horrific torture of my dear Finrod and... and what they did to him... -at that time, the Elven lady couldn’t restrain herself any longer and began to weep. Celebrimbor softened his mood, but stood firm.  
  
-Glory requires sacrifices sometimes. But it’s better to reach it through them, than to live in peace being mediocre as the rest.  
  
Galadriel shook her head and wiped her eyes.  
  
-Now you sound like your father. A very practical spirit: get everything you want and don’t care about how you do it.  
  
After this, they didn’t have much to talk about anymore. Celebrimbor always got angry when someone mentioned the actions of his father in the war, and went back into the house with furious pace.  
Sauron thought it convenient to come out of his hiding behind a pillar of the courtyard, and go after him to calm him.  
Galadriel’s face couldn’t have been less friendly upon discovering him.  
  
-Can I offer thee something to drink, my lovely lady? –offered the Maia, with a voice of poisonous sweetness that he had rehearsed thoroughly for occasions like this.- Or perhaps thou already wentest elsewhere? To Lothlórien could it be? Or maybe to a place where thou canst found thy own kingdom. So thou dost not have to rely always on the hospitality of bad friends, right? -Sauron moved his tongue across one of his perfect pearly teeth, where once had protruded a fang.

 

He would have loved to explain then to the lady what he had done exactly with her brother, in all its glorious detail. But unfortunately, that was one of the pleasures in which he couldn’t indulge in a life of austerity and hardships.  
Nonetheless, as if Galadriel had perceived something of his thoughts, she frowned with pain, and said simply:  
  
-Yes. I better leave. It is a sign of good manners retiring when one is a nuisance.  
  
After this, Sauron was left alone to deal with Celebrimbor as best he considered.  
The Elf was upset and paced in circles through the lobby, muttering under his breath. When he was thus, the Maia used to touch him softly on the shoulder, on the hand, or even on the neck, and then he calmed himself. But this time the Noldo evaded his caresses.  
  
-Stop touching me all the time, Annatar! You know I don’t like it. What happens to ye the Ainur with the Eldar? I still remember the stories of my grandfather, when he told us how Morgoth himself stalked him day and night, and how he tried to court him for the Silmarils. You won’t be like him, will you?  
  
The memory of his Lord produced in Sauron a mixture of feelings: sadness, affection, and a kind of warmth upon recognizing in that episode the typical eccentricities of the Vala.  
This slip almost made him forget his role, but he quickly composed himself. Now he was Annatar, Lord of Gifts, not Sauron, lieutenant of Melkor, and he should act as such.  
  
-Oh, my dear Celebrimbor! Why do my caresses bother you so much? Is it because of physical contact itself, or because there’s something hidden that you don’t want to confess to me, nor confess to yourself? -whispered the Maia, and his words enveloped Celebrimbor as velvet strips. Sensual, dangerous.  
The Elf blushed; there was something that emanated from the beautiful body in front of him, and although he didn’t know what it was, he would have sworn it was entering inside him in an obscene way.  
  
-I don’t know what you are talking about, I have nothing to hide!  
  
-Nothing? Not even certain secret rings? -the Elf opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out of his throat. Sauron made a dismissive gesture - Yes, indeed, I couldn’t avoid overhearing your conversation. Is that how you trust me, Celebrimbor? How you thank me for all the knowledge I have given you?  
  
-If you didn’t listen behind walls, Annatar, you wouldn’t hear things you shouldn’t hear. Sometimes, what others say about us behind our backs can be very painful. You are a wise Maia, you should know it. –groaned the blacksmith, and turned around as if he thought the conversation was ended.  
  
Sauron feigned to be devastated by his rejection, and announced he would be leaving soon and would spend a time away, to which Celebrimbor answered with a shrug.  
In fact, the occasion was more than oportune to complete once and for all his master plan. The sixteen rings were already finished, and each one of the goldsmiths of the inner circle of Celebrimbor had his own, like his lord.  
It was high time that Sauron also made one for himself.  
  
When he returned to Mordor he found that the works of Barad-dûr had progressed well during his absence, and that they had also raised numerous fortresses and garrisons in the most strategic locations. Both the earth and the sky were coated with a layer of increasingly dense ash and pollution, but within a few decades the lungs of the Orcs would grow accustomed to it.  
Silhouetted against the horizon, a black mass crowned by red flashes, rose the main source of the corrupted air: Orodruin, the Mount Doom. And Sauron penetrated its fiery entrails carrying just an anvil, a hammer and a small piece of gold.  
For seven days he worked tirelessly in the forge, until his hands gave shape to a ring, perfect in its simplicity, all the more beautiful because it had been created with one purpose only, which was not beauty. And once completed, the Maia held it between his fingers, and very slowly he began to pour all his power into it.  
The feeling was horrible, as if he was being emptied of life and existence, and for a moment he doubted if what he was doing was right.  
An almost inaudible voice in his head told him that his Lord would not have approved of that. But his Lord was no longer there, and what he thought didn’t matter much. Also, if the transfer of his power into the ring was so unpleasant, how much more exhilarating would be the return of this same reconcentrated power, once he placed it on his finger?  
The legs of Sauron started failing him, and heat was suddenly stifling. Closing his eyes, he focused then in his purpose, and an obsessive chant started echoing in his head; a chant in the secret language that he had devised long ago, and for which he hadn’t found an use until then. It was strange that right now those words came to him so naturally.  
The Maia fell to the ground limply, and realized that he had let go already of too much power and should stop immediately. He opened his eyes and looked at the small object: the words of his head had been carved on the internal surface of the Ring.  
Sauron flinched, tormented by an unspeakable pain, as if he had broken himself in two. Not able to endure it any longer, he quickly put the jewel on the ring finger of his left hand.  
Then Eä opened before him, and for a split second he had an overview of the creation from the Timeless Halls, and his sight crossed the Void, caressed his Lord while passing by, focused on Arda, then in Middle Earth, in its rivers, forests and mountains, reached the smallest objects, entered its invisible tissues, and finally found himself contemplating a large sphere, around which revolved other smaller spheres at a vertiginous pace.  
Sauron stumbled, dazed. The overload of power was too intense, but the feeling, although uncontrolled, was as sublime as what Melkor must have experienced back in the days of the Music, when he was at the summit.  
This was short-lived, however, and the power of the Ring soon stabilized. Sauron had now a clear view of each one of the wearers of the other rings, and as expected, a perfect control over their thoughts and souls.  
Licking his lips with satisfaction, he connected himself to those spirits against their will, opening them by force, almost... yes, almost raping them. The eyes, ears and hands of the others, were now his eyes, ears and hands. And the Ruling Ring multiplied the power of the sixteen rings to unsuspected limits, so that Sauron realized that every corner of Middle Earth could bend to his will if he wished it.  
But suddenly all of this stopped and Sauron was left alone.  
Slightly confused, he looked around and found out that he was still besides the forge and the pit, which belched bubbles of lava. The Maia clenched his teeth furious when he understood what had happened: a too unsubtle violation.  
Turning into a dark cloud of hatred he left Mount Doom and hurried to Eregion.  
  
When he arrived it was already dead of night and very few lights shone in the windows of Ost-in-Edhil, but one of these few, was the lamp of Celebrimbor’s house.  
Again with the nice appearance of Annatar, Sauron removed his Ring for the moment and put it in his robe. Weakness seized his legs again, but a while later he got used to it and stopped finding it so unpleasant. As long as the Ring was beside him there was no problem.  
A servant of Celebrimbor opened the door, but upon seeing who it was, he went inside again to consult with his lord whether he should welcome the visitor or not. For a moment Sauron feared that the Noldo, still upset with him, or worse, suspecting him, would leave him in the street. However, the servant returned shortly afterwards and took him to the workshop before his master. Then he went away to leave them alone.  
Celebrimbor was sitting without much composure in a rough chair, and looked at him with unreadable expression while he played with a chisel in his hands. Sauron perceived tightness in the environment.  
  
-I regret what happened last time, my dear Celebrimbor. –said the Maia, ruefully- I should not have meddled in your affairs; you are free to create whatever you want without having to answer to anyone. I have been thinking these days, and I’ve realized that I did wrong, led by the pride that we the Ainur have sometimes. I wanted to apologize, and I hope this episode doesn’t raise a barrier between us, for I’m very fond of you.  
  
-Yes... I’m also fond of you... I've been thinking it these days, just like you. –replied the Elf, rather dryly.  
  
Sauron cast a casual glance over his right hand, the one holding the chisel.  
  
-I see you 're not wearing your ring.  
  
-No, I don’t wear it, indeed.  
  
-Why not? Do you reject my gift? Are you still mad at me?  
  
Upon hearing the upset tone of the Maia, Celebrimbor seemed to relax and smiled for the first time.  
  
-No, Annatar. It’s not because of you. Actually, I couldn’t be angry with you. I have simply realized that the ring encloses a power too great to be used by the Eldar, and I believe it would be better not to wear it anymore. My goldsmiths think the same, and if I'm honest, I don’t even want those trinkets. I have never wanted them, they were just an excuse.  
  
If he hadn’t to keep his mask of kindness, Sauron would have raised an eyebrow intrigued upon hearing this. Could it be that after all the Elf didn’t suspect him in the least? Moreover, could it be possible that he was willing to give him willingly those “trinkets”, as he called them?  
Sauron knew that one should never underestimate the cunning of the enemy, but he also knew not to underestimate their stupidity, because this was often much greater than the other.  
  
-And then, what is it that you want, my beloved Celebrimbor? –whispered Sauron, squinting.  
  
His voice poured over the Elf like liquid honey, and he leaned back on the chair spreading his legs slightly.  
  
-I want the gift of Aulë, the true gift that Aulë sent me. -a flame of lust burned in the eyes of the Noldo in that moment, and he added:- I want you, Annatar.  
  
So it was that. Pitiful inferior creatures, always so predictable!  
Sauron smiled with shy coquetry and took a few steps toward him. Celebrimbor approached an oil lamp, and the figure of the Maia was lit in a strange play of light and shadows.  
  
-Strip yourself naked. -he ordered.  
  
Without saying a word, Sauron unbuttoned his robe and opened it wide to show the masterpiece of his designs.  
The blood rushed to the cheeks of the Elf and he licked his lips with desire. At a gesture, the Maia moved closer to him, and then Celebrimbor ran his hands around his waist and grabbed him by the buttocks possessively, measuring the perfection of the curvature with his expert hands of goldsmith.  
  
-Yes... I can create the most beautiful and extraordinary objects of all Arda. But neither me, nor even my grandfather, could ever create this: this beauty so perversely sublime, this figure able to soften the most evil and awake vile passions in the most virtuous.- sighed the Elf, as he ran his lips across the flat stomach and got intoxicated with the scent of his skin.  
  
Sauron shivered; only his Lord had touched him like that before. But after all, he thought, this was merely a disguise, a case, and he didn’t care about what happened to it.  
  
-I would like to make you mine right here, Annatar. –continued Celebrimbor, his lips already stroking his pubis.- I’d like to lay you on the ground, open you helpless before me, and make you moan my name. But how could I do it? How could I do it when beauty is nothing but a trap for the unwary, eh, Annatar? So beautiful, so smooth, so perfect. So deceitful...  
  
Sauron’s eyes opened wide upon hearing this last word, and when he looked down, he discovered the grim face of the Elf, his mouth twisted into a sneer as he held the Ruling Ring between his fingers.  
He must have searched for it among his robes covertly, with the pretext of caressing him.  
  
-What is this, Annatar? –he whispered maliciously- You have betrayed me.  
  
The wrath of the Maia had no end.  
That Elf, that pathetic creature, had managed to deceive him, him, the master of deceit! Sauron snatched the Ring with violence, and a shadow of fear flickered then in the eyes of Celebrimbor.  
  
-Fool! You don’t know the terrible mistake you have commited. – he threatened, and his voice suddenly sounded very different - What could have been done without deaths or destruction, I'll have to do it now through war. You'll be the cause of a lot of innocent blood being spilled, Celebrimbor! Be proud, however: even in that you've managed to resemble your illustrious grandfather. Behold now the true face of the one in whom you trusted, the one to whom you gave your soul, and on whom you have put your lustful hands! -and saying thus, Sauron placed the Ring on his finger, and before the terrified glance of the Elf, he regained his usual appearance.  
  
The sweet features and the kind lips of Annatar mutated into a face of pale cruelty and perverse fangs. The blond hair turned black as the sleep of death. The graceful limbs gave way to a body of steely nerves and hands accustomed to torture. And instead of those honeyed eyes that had bewitched all upon whom they fell, an eye of fire, terrible and hateful, pierced Celebrimbor and made him squirm in the chair. The Elf leaned back trying to escape, but to no avail.  
  
-No... It cannot be... Are you... you are... are... ?  
  
-Sauron, that's me! Or Gorthaur. Or the Wizard. I have many names and I have been many things: lieutenant of Angband and lord of Mordor. Soon I will be also the sole master of Middle Earth. Look at me well, Celebrimbor, because I’ll be the last thing your accursed eyes will see.  
  
The Elf covered his face when the tall black figure loomed over him, suspecting the end.  
But instead of that, the Maia disappeared in a cloud of darkness, leaving him in his workshop alone with his heartbeat and an icy fear coursing through his body.  
  
Back in Mordor, it didn’t take long for Sauron to gather enough troops for the assault on Eregion. It was true that he didn’t have an army comparable to the one he had in the days of Angband, and the war machines were mostly mere plans and projects. But an impatience unusual in him had seized his will. It was as if the Ring burned on his finger and only the possession of all the other rings could calm him.  
Had something similar happened to Melkor with the Silmarils? Sauron didn’t want to think about it, since he guessed that trail of reflection would lead him to an obnoxious truth.  
  
Soon thereafter, hordes of Orcs stormed the city of Ost-in-Edhil, leaving behind roofs on fire, dead warriors and weeping maidens. Celebrimbor and his innermost circle of followers had withdrawn in the house of reunion of the Mírdain, and from there they tried to launch a last desperate attack. But all was for naught; that was a town of blacksmiths and artisans, not of soldiers, and the Orcs were enraged after such a long period without blood or brutality.  
Sauron himself captured Celebrimbor and ordered the death of all the other members of his circle. After this he searched the house avidly, until he found the treasure he craved so much: nine of the forged rings.  
When he pressed them against his chest and felt their metal bruising the Ruling Ring, he was deeply relieved. But he wasn’t complete yet. Other seven rings were missing. And above all, the Three, the three rings that the treacherous Elf had forged behind his back.  
  
When he entered the workshop of the house of reunion, he discovered that the Orcs had already enjoyed some time with the prisoner. Celebrimbor was tied to a chair, with a black eye, and one of the soldiers seemed very fond of pricking him in the stomach with a burin. Sauron made everyone leave with a snap of his fingers, and once alone, he came closer to the prisoner and placed himself behind him.  
The Elf's hairs stood on their ends upon contact with the cold breath that caressed his neck.  
  
-This brings me back memories, Celebrimbor. You on a chair and me standing next to you. Although I think the roles were a bit different. What did you say to me then, that you wanted to lay me on the floor, open me wide and make me moan? It was that, isn’t it? –and the Maia ran his hands over the shoulders and neck of the prisoner, as a veiled threat.  
  
-Go ahead, do with me as you please, Sauron the Abhorred! Morgoth was depraved, so nothing makes me think you’d be different. And after all, I have no wife or children that would regret it. But I won’t tell you where are the Seven, let alone the Three.  
  
-Oh, my dear friend, you are wrong on both counts! In the first place, do not expect to receive from me a pleasure that you don’t deserve. And in the second place, you will talk, you will indeed talk... - Sauron approached then a table full of blacksmith instruments, and picked up a chisel and a hammer.- You already know, Celebrimbor, that as a Maia of Aulë I’m extremely proficient with these tools when carving stones and gems, but... I wonder if I'll be equally skilful using them in the tender flesh of an Elf. Aren’t you curious to know it as well? – said the Maia, raising an eyebrow wryly.  
And Celebrimbor trembled when he saw the sadistic smirk that began to creep into his lips.  
  
Indeed, it didn’t take long for the Elf to talk and reveal where he had hidden the other seven rings; each one in the house of his seven most trusted Mírdain. But he stubbornly resisted against telling him where were the three that most desired Sauron.  
In any case, Celebrimbor had been reduced to a bloody pulp from which couldn’t be expected much more. And the location of the missing rings was fairly obvious also. He must have given one to Galadriel, other to Gil-galad, and the third... Well, the third could also be held by either of these two Elven lords. There was no other Noldo in Middle Earth that was worthy of them.  
Nonetheless, a new incident forced Sauron to forget about the rings for the moment. An enemy army had just been sighted in the North, heading towards Eregion and sent by Gil-galad from Lindon. In front of it marched a certain Elrond of whom Sauron had barely heard anything so far. Rumor had it he was the son of the damned Eärendil that brought ruin to Angband, another reason to charge against him with the utmost cruelty.  
The Maia heard this news with apparent ease, and then turned to what was left of Celebrimbor.  
  
-I have one last mission for you, dear friend. -the Elf, with one foot already in Mandos and the other faintly set on Middle Earth, simply spat some blood on the floor.- You’re going to march in front of my troops to receive this ill-timed visitor.  
  
Celebrimbor raised his head with great effort and muttered among rattles:  
  
-You’re crazy if you think I’m going to march as a captain for your filthy Orcs, Gorthaur.  
  
Sauron laughed.  
  
-As a captain? Oh, no, you won’t march as a captain, Celebrimbor! You're going to be the standard.  
  
That's how the real war of Sauron and the Elves began. And at first fortune seemed to lean in his favour. Elrond’s army was forced to retrace its steps and was besieged in a stronghold in the North, later known as Imladris. And though the Dwarves of the Misty Mountains caused some discomfort, they were defeated shortly after and, locking themselves in their mines, they forgot about the outside world as usual.  
Seeing much of Middle Earth under his control in such a brief span of time, the small doubts that Sauron still had regarding the Ring were completely dispelled. And deep in his heart he boasted about having achieved more lands during his short reign, than his lord Melkor during whole millennia. Further evidence of how power should join efficiency to achieve results.  
However, Sauron’s pride was humbled soon, as suddenly the coasts of Middle Earth were flooded by a tide of Númenórean vessels that came to the aid of the Elves. Never before had be seen such a fleet or soldiers so numerous.  
From overnight, those men who seemed to multiply at a rate twice faster than the one at which they fell, opened gaps on all fronts and began to push them further and further to the South and East. The siege of Imladris was broken and Eregion abandoned; all the conquests lost. Even Sauron was surprised by one of the contingents and barely managed to escaped, with nothing more than a squalid guard beside him.  
  
Again in Barad-dûr, defeated and humiliated, the Maia cursed his lack of foresight. He had been so obsessed with the rings, that hadn’t stopped to think about the strategies of the enemy or to plan the counterattack.  
He cursed his stupidity, since he wasn’t so blinded by power yet, to not see his own mistakes. But above all, he cursed the Númenóreans. Those bastard descendants of the Edain. And he hated, he hated them with unquenchable passion, until the day of his revenge.  
  
However, that day was still far, and after the initial fury Sauron calmed his hate. Maybe he wasn’t the lord of Middle Earth yet, but he was of all Mordor. His fortress was finished. The sixteen rings, along with the Ruling Ring shone on his fingers. And the three who had eluded him would be unusable as long as he had control over them.  
It was high time then, for removing his sword and riding boots, putting aside the brutality of the past, and start behaving as a dignified ruler. He owed it to Melkor. And besides, Sauron didn’t want to hate anymore, he didn’t want to cover Middle Earth with more shadows, pain and hatred.  
He had grown tired of that and knew where it led.  
No, he had a plan, a vision, and it was a vision of love and beauty. Love for all the lands of Arda, united under one emblem and one glorious chant to exalt its sole ruler. Love for all peoples, equalised under the model of the Orcs and content in their uniformity, with no more discrepancies of thought, with no more opposing views or conflicts.  
Why should be some races better and happier than others? Why should Elves or Númenóreans consider themselves superior and privileged? He, Sauron, no!, Mairon the Admirable, would put an end to all that, to the decadent superstitions of the decadent Western nations. He would merge the race of Men and the race of Orcs into one, until the children of their children could not be differentiated from each other. He would unite them through love, through unconditional love. He knew it was possible because he had seen it with his own eyes in his servant. And if perchance any of his subjects refused to share this beautiful ideal that he offered them, then he would be forced to do it with the most convincing means.  
Because indeed, it was true that the Ring had given Sauron this wisdom, this brief vision of the whole, and the atom in the whole, and that now he wanted to spread it to the remotest corner of far Harad. But his love came at a price, of course, and it had to be a severe and terrible love, a love that punished any deviation for the common good.  
In his vision of peace and perpetual harmony couldn’t be room for certain elements. The Elves had to disappear completely from Middle Earth; they were stagnant by nature, because of his immortality, and this wasn’t his place. At this point, and after having refused repeatedly to return to the Undying Lands, who could blame him if he expelled the Elves through more expeditious means?  
And the same happened with the Dwarves. Clinging to their ridiculous traditions, they were a continual hindrance for progress. Also on them should fall the punishment of Mairon the just; a horrible punishment but driven by love, not by hate.  
Never more by hate. Never more as Melkor. Except against the Númenóreans, only against them.  
  
With these brilliant ideas in his mind, Sauron took up his place on the throne of Barad-dûr, and began to dress himself with the ornate robes of a king and to wield the quill instead of the whip. Gradually he forgot how smelled the blood of prisoners and how they moaned while being lashed. Those things no longer existed under his reign. Well, maybe they existed in the lower floors of the tower and the underground chambers. Maybe they also existed in the surrounding lands. But not in his pinnacle of power and wisdom. There they were only he and his Ring, pure and perfect as its surface of polished gold.  
In those days Sauron invited many kings of Men to his fortress. They came from the most distant lands of the North, South, East and West, and often they toasted amicably after discussing the details of the new and glorious order that they would bring to the world.  
Sauron appreciated those men, nine in total, noble and powerful, and especially one of them. A defector from the Númenóreans who had appointed himself as prince in the western havens. He appreciated them, but he couldn’t trust them. An ally was useful, but also unpredictable. An ally had too much freedom of action, too much independence. And freedom was dangerous. Melkor had been extremely free, and where was he now? No, allies were good, but slaves were better. Thus there would be no conflicts, thus everyone would work according to his will, for the common good.  
Because of this, the last night he met with his allies, Sauron gave them a little parting gift. A ring for each one of them.  
The Númenórean lord shook his hand heartily before leaving.  
  
-My lord Mairon, thou art very generous, because I know there is a lot of thee in this piece that thou hast just given me. I cannot think of anything that could equal in value a fragment of the soul. And I wish I had something among my treasures to offer thee in return, but everything I own is trifles in comparison.  
  
-Do not worry, my friend. Thou wilt return me the favour someday. I'm sure of it.  
  
-When will we see us again?  
  
-When the right time comes. All of ye will know it and then will gather here.  
  
The man looked at him somewhat confused, but Sauron smiled affectionately and all his doubts were dispelled. How he loved that sincere face! The man wouldn’t have minded serving the Maia for all eternity.  
What he didn’t know was that over the centuries, while everyone around except he grew old, while his body became more and more consumed by the ring and his soul was tied with increasingly stronger chains to that little object, what he didn’t know then, is that he would come to regret deeply the acceptance of the gift.  
And so it happened that to the next meeting, didn’t come nine proud men with their entourage, but nine tormented shadows in a continuous state of hatred and despair, and they never returned home. The rings, after all, had been just a loan, not a gift.  
  
With the kings of the Dwarves Sauron was less fortunate. At first he had hoped to dominate them in the same way, so they came to their senses and also collaborated on his project of an unified Middle Earth. But their heads hard as stone and their hearts of granite refused to bend to him, and the only thing Sauron achieved was increasing their insane desire for gold and riches.  
Disappointed, he tried to regain the seven rings, but four of them had been lost forever in the fire, and another one avoided him repeatedly. Sauron waited thus in his tower, with infinite patience.  
Sometimes he realized how incredibly lonely he was there at the top, above everyone and besides no one. Had Melkor felt like that as well? He didn’t think so. Melkor hadn’t been alone ever. Melkor was part of each of his servants and creatures, while an ice barrier separated him from the others.  
His point of contact with the exterior were mostly the nine Ringwraiths. But these didn’t provide real company, not at least as his human servant had done, his Shadow, or even Gothmog. They were ghosts, nothing more, extensions of his own mind, depersonalized and hollow.  
That’s why, during endless hours, the Maia caressed his Ring and only thus he managed to create a false illusion of company for himself. Sometimes as well, he stood in front of a full length mirror and changed his shape until he achieved a resemblance to Melkor. The memory of his Lord was always alive in his mind, and he could imitate even the last one of his features, even the slightest scar. Only in the eyes he failed, since he was unable to replicate the volatile flame that had danced in the glance of the Vala.  
Then Sauron looked at his reflection for a while, and then leaned over to kiss it. Although instead of feeling the lips of his Lord, the only thing that kissed him back was the hard and cold surface of the mirror.  
  
However, during all those years in which the Maia secluded more and more inside himself and inside his Ring, the power of Mordor kept spreading outwards. And there came a time when the interests of his kingdom clashed with the interests of another kingdom that also was in continuous expansion.  
Again the name of Númenor stuck in him like a poisoned thorn.  
There had been a change in the men of the island, and from simple sailors they had become greedy conquerors. The news that spies brought him were more worrying each time: a new Númenórean haven here, a new colony there, vassals of Mordor under tribute, and many other abuses. If it was a due time for revenge, it was this. Sauron gathered his armies in secret and started the war machines.  
And then, as if Eru himself, who saw everything, had told his intentions to the king of Númenor in advance, the Maia came face to face with a surprise attack of those detestable men. Suddenly the plains surrounding Mordor, black before, awoke covered in tents and banners as a flowery meadow.  
Sauron stared at the prodigious apparition from his tower, spinning the Ring on his finger obsessively. In that moment he felt the blast of withered air that always accompanied the Wraiths, and upon turning around he found the Nine standing by the door, nine shadows flickering between this world and the next.  
  
-My Lord, the king Ar-Pharazôn demands thy surrender. -said the captain of the wraiths, the one who was prince in the western havens.  
  
Sauron clenched his fist in anger. That petty king “demanded” something of him?  
He turned back to the window and counted the troops of the enemy again. Nothing, they still outnumbered them in three men against one. Numbers had never failed Sauron. Neither numbers nor deception.  
An idea glowed in his mind, clear, convincing and certain. Why try to crash against the coasts of Númenor, when he could be the rotten apple that would corrupt Ar-Pharazôn and all his people? Destroying them from within he would ensure that there was nothing left, not even a small seed from which a shoot could arise. A clean and elegant revenge.  
  
-All right, if the Lord of the West presses the Lord of Mordor this way, then the Lord of Mordor will accept his defeat with honour and will surrender. –he announced, and when they heard this, the Wraiths became agitated and wailed in anguish. They feared being separated from the Ring. And the Ring was everything.- But do not worry. When I return, there won’t be a Lord of the West any longer. Moreover, there won’t be even a West. As far as ye are concerned, ye will be left in charge of the tower in my absence. And to make your waiting less terrible, take, I leave you here this so ye entertain yourselves.

 

And saying this, Sauron tore from his neck the chain from which hung the nine rings, and threw them on the floor, at the feet of his servants. The Wraiths jumped over the metal pieces among euphoric howls, until their veils of darkness got confused into one amorphous shape, writhing between pain and joy as each sought his respective ring, and placed it where in other times were their fingers.  
After this, the Maia dismissed the Nine and went to the mirror. He couldn’t appear before Ar-Pharazôn with that visage of evil, but he didn’t want to do it with the stunning beauty of Annatar either. He had already used that trick before, and no doubt the Númenóreans were aware of how he had deceived the Elves with it. It would be too suspicious, and besides, judging from the rumours he had heard about Ar-Pharazôn, he wasn’t a man that liked to surround himself with people who could overshadow him. The circumstances required humility.  
Sauron therefore chose a somehow nicer and smoother appearance than usual, but shorter, a little gaunt and haggard, with grey and sad eyes, as befitted a supposedly defeated enemy. It didn’t lack a certain beauty, but it was a withered and faded beauty.  
Satisfied, he examined his new disguise in the mirror, and then the golden glow of the Ring caught his eye. If he was captured with it on sight they would snatch it from him, but leaving it in the tower was no longer a viable option; the mere thought of separating from it made him shudder in horror. At first he thought about swallowing it, but he quickly dismissed such a vulgar option, and taking it off his finger, he held it against his bare chest. A murmur of enchantments in the secret language he had invented escaped his lips. When he looked down, the Ring had disappeared inside his flesh, leaving behind a circular burn on his skin. He would recover it when it was safe.  
Thus, he came out of Barad-dûr with his head high, to reassure the Orcs that already bemoaned under their breath. But when he stood before the Númenórean king, alone and helpless, there was no trace of pride in him.  


-Kneel before the Lord of the West, Sauron the Abhorred, black shadow of Mordor and a thousand times accursed! -ordered the king from his golden canopy.  
  
And the Maia obeyed without saying a word.  
Ar-Pharazôn was a short man for his race and with a larger ego than his whole kingdom. The incipient belly revealed a not very moderate taste for good food, and the cunning little eyes, pleasure for intrigues and perhaps other vices as well. All the smaller seemed his body, all the larger his ego, and all the rounder his stomach, because he had sat in a too big canopy, surrounded by too high banners, and covered himself with too many layers of jeweled fabrics.  
Sauron was treated with the basic dignity that all prisoners deserved, but he couldn’t avoid an intensive search by the king's guard. When asked where his famous ring was, he explained that he had lost it when he was defeated and forced to leave Eregion, along with all the other rings. The king discussed at length with his counselors and expert sorcerers, but they assured him that it wasn’t easy to abandon an object of such power, and that if the prisoner didn’t carry it on his person, was no doubt because he had lost it and had no choice. His pale and sickly appearance, and his quick surrender, corroborated it also.  
Pleased with this explanation, Ar-Pharazôn took possesion of his new trophy, and soon thereafter he hoisted sail for Númenor, eager to showcase the Maia in court as a curious animal.  
  
The golden city of Armenelos was even more grandiose and prosperous than Sauron imagined, and upon seeing its cobbled streets, its clean and new buildings, and its well-off citizens, hatred and rancour consumed him. While in Middle Earth a loaf of bread was often a luxury, the descendants of those Edain who had caused the downfall of his Lord swam in abundance and enjoyed long and blissful lives. There would be no justice in the world until they disappeared from its surface.  
Already in the palace, the Maia had the opportunity to meet the key players of the kingdom, and their weak hearts revealed before him with the transparency of crystal.  
There was the steward of Ar-Pharazôn, a rigid and narrow-minded man, with no other mission than pleasing his king. By winning over the monarch, he would automatically win his trust. There was also the high priest of Eru, old and mellowed, possibly willing to change his faith if this gave him greater prominence. The barons of the five points of the island had also met; vulgar spirits without exception and lovers of wealth above all.  
There were only two persons in whom Sauron perceived animosity and opposition. One was the current Lord of Andúnië, a counselor named Amandil who, unfortunately, enjoyed the affection of the king despite his unorthodox views. The other was the queen, Ar-Zimraphel, a woman who glared at him with a frown. Sauron sensed a deep bitterness in her heart; maybe she would be useful later.  
  
The first days were humiliating.  
Ar-Pharazôn made him come out to the balcony of the palace so that the masses could watch the defeated enemy and jeer at him. Some of them even threw him objects, which made the king laugh in a fairly rude way. And all this time, they kept calling him Sauron, or the Dark Lord, or the Wizard, with evident contempt on their lips.  
However, once the novelty had grown old, they left him alone and he was free to wander around the palace with surveillance, although no one spoke to him.  
Sauron took the opportunity to consult the old books of the library and soak in the history of the island: its beginnings under the auspices of the Valar, its close relations with the Eldar, and later, the dissensions, the estrangement with the West, the doubts, the frustrated ambitions, the moral corruption. That was a very distorted and embellished history, of course, the self-satisfied history that one would tell about himself. But despite this, the Shadow that had fallen over Númenor could be guessed perfectly in the middle of each pompous and sycophantic line that composed the books.  
  
The continuous study further accentuated the dark circles in the gaunt face of the Maia. And one day, the old priest of Eru, who had come into the library to look something up, walked over to him and put his hand on the arm of Sauron.  
  
-Ah! Reading about Tar-Ciryatan, isn’t it ? An interesting monarch. -said the old man with a kindly dumb smile.  
  
-Yes, interesting. I decided to learn more about the history of Númenor, considering that I’m going to spend much time here. However, I can’t find any information for the period between the king Ar-Gimilzôr and our present king, Ar-Pharazôn the Golden. What happened in those years?  
  
-Oh! We prefer not to talk much about those years. One could say that nothing worthy of mention happened. And if it happened, well, the mysterious burning of the library in the year 3255 erased all traces from history. -and the priest gave him a knowing smile.  
  
That was all the eloquence that Sauron needed to understand what had happened.  
That man seemed quite outspoken, and the Maia guessed he could gain a lot with him.  
  
-The history of Númenor is fascinating, but I’d also like to learn a little about the customs of the people. I suppose thy Excellency is in the right position to clarify me certain things about, for example, the worship of the deity, isn’t it?  
  
The old man made a somehow dismissive hand gesture.  
  
-The cult of Eru is quite neglected lately, if I'm honest. Although it was never really a big deal to begin with. Three speeches a year given by the king at the top of the Meneltarma, and nothing more. Despite the honours, one could say that my position is the most useless in the palace. And who would listen to an old man like me, anyway?  
  
Sauron opened his eyes attentive, and leaned toward him.  
  
-What about Eru? Does he listen to thee?  
  
-I don’t know. I believe so. I’m supposed to believe so, since I’m the high priest.  
  
-Has he ever spoken with thee?  
  
-No.  
  
The Maia smiled enigmatically, and leaned back again. The old man felt a twinge of curiosity. There was something in the grey eyes of that being older than the world, something dangerous and seductive at the same time, something that promised to reveal forbidden but powerful secrets. And though he knew that certain things shouldn’t be heard ever by human ears, the old man could not resist the imperative to ask:  
  
-How was him?  
  
Sauron feigned surprise:  
  
-Who?  
  
-Thy lord, the fallen Vala.  
  
The Maia then rose from his chair, kissed the priest's hand in farewell with courtesy, and simply said:  
  
-He was real. VERY real.  
  
Then he left the library. The old man would have rather not known this at such an advanced age, but those words wouldn’t go out of his head from then onwards.  
  
Soon after, Sauron was called to the presence of Ar-Pharazôn, and seeing that all the guards left the room and closed the doors to let them alone, he realized that it was something important. The king pointed to the floor, and Sauron knelt and bowed his head.  
  
-I have been informed that you have spoken recently with my priest about the Dark Enemy, that whose name we don’t pronounce.  
  
-Only because he asked me, thy Majesty.  
  
-Such conversations are not allowed in my court, Wizard! -rebuked the king, and the Maia shrank further in the floor. Nonetheless, Ar-Pharazôn was somehow calmed upon seeing his submission. -If there’s anyone here who may know more, that's me and only me, do you understand?  
  
-Of course, thy Majesty.  
  
-Well. Now raise your head, look at the eyes of your king, and tell me with total sincerity about Morgoth. Who was he, how was he, and for what reason did you let him seduce you and draw you into the darkness.  
  
-My king, his real name was Melkor, not Morgoth. And he was the first of all, the father of all who had no father. In the beginning it was he and the Darkness, and in the Darkness he begot us, he alone and without wife. He begot the great Valar, the Powers of Arda, and the lesser Maiar like me. The first of his children was Manwë, whom the Eldar incorrectly called his "brother". But Melkor has no brothers, since nobody was before him or at the same time as he. Also from the matter of Darkness itself Melkor created Arda, and from his love and wisdom he created the Children of Arda, Men, Elves, Dwarves and Orcs. All races were beautiful and good in the beginning, and all were equally loved by Melkor. But Manwë was ambitious and foolish. He didn’t understand that the origin of life always throbs in the Darkness, either in the depths of the earth where plants germinate, or in the belly of women where men are shaped. He wanted light, he wanted to rip the primordial Darkness with loud and searing light, believing that this way he would become greater and more powerful than his father. He dragged then the other Valar to rebellion, and there was war in Arda, destructive fire from which the stars arose and floodings from which the seas emerged. My lord Mekor feared for his Children, and so he agreed to come down to Earth, enclosed in a humble body of flesh and bone. But it was too late. The Elves were deceived by the lies of Manwë and his followers, and the Orcs, who still kept faithful to the true Creator, were tortured and disfigured by the Valar, and thrown to a life of misery. Despite all my lord Melkor, whose mercy is infinite, accepted and protected them. I was also deceived for a long time, I also believed that light was good and Darkness evil. But when I saw my Lord for the first time inside his body, so beautiful, so full of life, I understood at once the mistake of my beliefs. I realized that the light that I loved so much, actually deformed the appearance of all things, and that only in Darkness could be found the truth, a truth that is difficult to find because it must be sought without sight, but that rewards with the secret of life those who dare to get into it. Death didn’t exist at first, not even for men, for all are equal in the dark. It was light which created contrasts, opposition. And death.  
  
Ar-Pharazôn had listened carefully, but the expression on his face was impenetrable. He just raised an eyebrow at the word “death”.  
  
-That's blasphemy, Wizard. It’s not that the story told by the books. –he snapped, although there was a shadow of uncertainty in his voice.  
  
-That's because the lies of the Valar were transmitted to the books of the Eldar, and in the place of Melkor they put an unreal and harmless ghost named Eru. And my Lord was portrayed as a perverse and cruel tyrant. Thy forefather Eärendil was betrayed by these lies, and Men manipulated to help the Valar in their detestable mission of banishing my Lord from Arda. But perhaps there is still hope for Men if they repent. Because my Lord Melkor can still listen to them and attend their pleas, and perhaps, bring them back to the Darkness, with no death, no suffering, no old age. Where all are equal.  
  
Ar-Pharazôn scratched his chin, thoughtfully.  
  
-Umm! Why should I believe you, Sauron? Why should I believe that Melkor is more real than Eru?  
  
-Because there are marks in Arda that attest the passing of my Lord across it. There are the sunken lands of Beleriand, there are the Noldor of past ages who knew him, although their irrational hatred would make them blaspheme. And here I am that remained with him till the end, that loved him with my body and soul. Yes, because so real was Melkor that he could be loved in the usual sense of the word. On the other hand, who has seen Eru? Who can say that he has touched him, even with one finger?  
  
At that time, the king smiled. There was sincerity and passion in the eyes of the Maia, for though his discourse was full of lies, he had also mixed them with things that he thought and felt deep in his heart. So that the honesty of the ones covered the falseness of the others, until they were indistinguishable.  
  
-You speak of physical love, Wizard. -said Ar-Pharazôn with malice.- But Melkor is your father as you say. Isn’t that incest?  
  
-Those rules concern only ordinary men, my king. They don’t apply to the Ainur. -and then, remembering that the queen was a cousin of the king, he added slyly:- Neither to great kings of noble lineage.  
  
Ar-Pharazôn nodded pleased, and an ambitious shine awoke in his narrowed eyes. With some effort, he leaned on the opposite side of the throne, and his heavy robes gave off a myriad of golden sparkles.  
  
-What you say sounds interesting, Wizard. Or how should I call you? Not Sauron the Abhorred, of course.  
  
-In the early days, before calumny fell upon me, I was known as Mairon, my king.  
  
-Mairon... You will be Tar-Mairon, then. -concluded the monarch, and with a languid gesture ordered the Maia to go away.- We’ll talk about this another time, and you will explain to me more about Melkor.  
  
Thus the first great triumph of Sauron over the Númenóreans was consummated. And in the days that followed the king, and after him most of the court and the people, commited themselves to the worship of Melkor. And cults appeared that Men, in their folly, believed to be very ancient, but that had been invented by Sauron as a vulgar superstition to keep them entertained.  
The steward of the kingdom didn’t hesitate a second to adopt the new faith, as soon as he learned of the convictions of his lord. And the high priest of Eru changed his white robes for black ones overnight, happy to enjoy a greater role, as the cult of Melkor required temples, sacrifices, and many artifacts and complicated prayers. The Meneltama was deserted, and no one wanted to climb painfully to the top anymore. All the more so when the new temple of Darkness was right in the center of Armenelos, at hand, and was majestic and brilliant.  
The Tree of Númenor, one of the relics of the past to which still clung the most reactionary, burned perfectly on the altar the day of the consecration of the temple. And Sauron became intoxicated with the perfumed smoke of victory.  
  
But not everyone celebrated that day. The queen Ar-Zimraphel bit her lip full of anger upon discovering what had been done with the tree. And the face of the counselor Amandil had a grim expression that didn’t bode any good.  
Sauron had been always cautious around that man, whose snares tried to cause a rift between him and the king all the time. In public the Maia addressed him with courtesy and humility, as if to make peace between them, but deep down he knew that he would never win Amandil over with flattery or sweetness. And on more than one occasion he tried to poison him, but the counselor was too smart and didn’t fall in his traps. However, his smartness was also linked to a certain temperamental character, and it was this what led him to his downfall in the end.  
  
One night in which the Maia wandered the corridors of the palace, alone and off guard, he was assaulted by Amandil from the shadows. The man was very fast, and before Sauron had time to dodge him, he found himself slammed against the wall and with a hand closing around his neck.  
  
-You accursed snake! You may have deceived the king and everyone else, but don’t think for a moment that I can’t see your true intentions. –he threatened, hissing at inches from his ear.  
  
Sauron stirred weakly, feigning helplessness, and looked at the man with sad, frightened eyes.  
  
-My lord Amandil, why dost thou say that? There are no hidden intentions in my actions. I'm just a prisoner of Ar-Pharazôn that has lost everything: the kingdom, the Ring, the power. I only spoke to the king about Melkor because he was curious, and what I told him was just the truth I knew, nothing more. Every man is free to worship the god he wants, dost thou think not, counselor Amandil? And if the king has already chosen, who are we to judge? -the pressure on his neck became even more obvious, and Sauron almost felt his Adam apple sinking in his trachea.  
  
It would have been very easy for him to claim then his Ring and reduce Amandil to ashes in a single flash of power.  
If he had wanted.  
  
-Don’t come at me with those excuses, Wizard! The only thing you've been up since you soiled our island with your damned feet, is bringing ruin to us all. Well, you should know that you won’t achieve it without resistance. There are still many who remain faithful to the truth, there are still many friends of the Eldar, and each one of them is more courageous and stronger than three of your corrupt and effeminate servants.  
  
-That certainly I believe. And although I assure thee that I’m not corrupt and I'm still as pure as the day the Ainur sang for the first time, I must admit that I’m very weak in my current state. Go ahead, check it thyself. Hold my members, beat me, mistreat me if thou wantest. And then thou wilt discover how fragile I am, how delicate is this body of flesh and bone.  
  
The Maia closed his eyes and turned his head, offering him the neck and swollen jugular as a defeated wolf. Amandil hesitated in front of that gesture of submission. He wasn’t a violent man, not even remotely, but there was something evil that emanated from that being and filled him with strange desires and fantasies of revenge.  
In his mind appeared terrible images of torture, in which he saw himself abusing the prisoner in a thousand different ways. Whence came those evil images? Someone should have put them there, they couldn’t have been created by his mind. Struggling to quench the fury that grew within him, Amandil merely pressed Sauron against the wall again, and his head hit painfully on the stone.  
  
\- What happens, counselor Amandil? Thou hast me here helpless in thy hands, why dost thou not finish me? Isn’t that what thy loyalty to the king and Númenor would require? Or maybe... maybe thy loyalty begins to sway. Maybe thou only wantest to hit me as a petty revenge for what happened to thy grandson Isildur, isn’t it? -the man blinked in confusion, and a triumphant smile broke on the lips of the Maia.- Or didst thou thought that I wouldn’t find out the identity of whom stole a fruit from the White Tree before we cut it? By the way, how is the boy, struggling between life and death? I have understood that the guards caused him numerous injuries. They should have cut his fingers, as befits a thief.  
  
Sauron let out a laugh and Amandil’s blood froze in his veins.  
Horrified, he glimpsed for a fleeting moment the true face of the prisoner. The repulsive eye of glass, and the hateful, the hypnotic eye of fire, with its constricted pupil. And that laugh, that laugh still rang in his head as the cry of a thousand whips cracking and thousand howls of pain.  
Not knowing how, the counselor grabbed the Maia by the arm and pulled from him.  
When he regained his sanity, Sauron was lying on the ground, bleeding from his mouth and nose, with a black eye, the robes torn, and trembling from head to foot. In this way the royal guard found them when they broke into the corridor, alerted by the commotion.  
Amandil didn’t remember anything of what had happened, and he could hardly recognize himself in this brutal act. But Ar-Pharazôn didn’t want to hear his explanations.  
That man had bothered him for a long time already, but until then he hadn’t dared to get rid of him. But now he had the perfect excuse: such behaviour, more typical of a tavern than a palace, couldn’t be allowed in his court. That a royal counselor frightened and mistreated thus a prisoner, moreover, a sacred Ainu, was completely unacceptable. That was how Amandil and his whole family were exiled to the haven of Rómenna and separated from the palace forever. The bruises and split lip had been worth of it, after all.  
  
Despite everything the rebels, who called themselves the Faithful, kept scheming in the shadows, plotting plans to put an end to the cult of Melkor and restore the stale traditions of the past.  
This outbreak of rebellion was the perfect excuse for the silence of the god Melkor and the increasingly short and miserable lives of men. Consequently, the sacrifices of animals gave way to sacrifices of “undesirable” elements. And Sauron laughed to himself every time he perceived that characteristic sweet smell from the windows of the palace.  
The Númenóreans were stupid, like all men. They believed that the great gods could be bought with ridiculous sacrifices, with temples that they couldn’t see, with nonsensical prayers that they couldn’t hear.  
Often Sauron was left alone in the temple, when everyone had gone, and thought about Melkor. This was not how the favour of his Lord was won, he knew it better than anyone.  
Melkor was won over by throwing a crowned prisoner at his feet, by presenting him a sword still covered with the steaming blood of an Elf, or lowering the head when he passed by, or trailing down his hip bones with the hands, or taking him by surprise and penetrating him, until a moan or a sigh or a word escaped his lips.  
Sometimes what escaped them was the name of Sauron.  
And so pronounced, by the deep voice of his Lord suddenly turned into a vulnerable lament, that derogatory name sounded sweeter than all the “Tar-Mairon” of the world.  
When Sauron remembered these things, he couldn’t avoid that an old desire, almost forgotten, awoke inside him again. And then he closed the temple under lock and key, and right there on the altar, he made a very different offering for his Lord. One that would have pleased him much more if he could have felt it, although he knew he could not. And the despair of being completely alone made him mad with rage and need. It drove him to search for his Ring inside his flesh, from where it shouldn’t come out. Until he came to a point where he could no longer distinguish between the desire for Melkor and the desire for his Ring, and when he reached climax he didn’t know with whom of the three he had done it: with himself, with Melkor, or with that golden circle.  
  
Of course, for the prudish Númenóreans those little slips of frenzy would have seemed as an abomination. The moral of the island had become more and more strict with the passing of the centuries, and now many of the things he had done with his Lord in Angband would have been seen as a perversion.  
The curious thing was that, along with the narrow moral and the condemnation of pleasures, came true perversion. Subtly, as the dirt that slips under the most luxurious rugs.  
There had been no malice in the bedroom games of his Lord and he, only a mutual pleasure that came from the natural collision of two bodies. Not even in the games of the Orcs had been malice. No matter how heinous or brutal they were, there wasn’t a great difference between them and the thoughtless passion of animals.  
Nonetheless there, during the last days of Númenor, Sauron saw what men had done with the most beautiful gift of Eru.  
Far from being simple and sincere, the act of love had become a complex battlefield, where every move and strategy served to increase one’s own power and decrease the other’s. Joy didn’t matter, only the perceived status at the end of the act. And this was full of lies, hidden intentions and manipulation. But at the same time it was terribly simplistic, a mechanical and unoriginal act.  
  
Sauron saw it every day in the palace.  
Endless rows of virgin girls filed into Ar-Pharazôn’s bedroom, while his queen walked lonely through the galleries. And all the girls had the same vacant smile, that instead of describing joy, described bitterness. But nonetheless they smiled, and their eyes were dead as glass; perhaps they were of glass.  
None of the girls ever returned to the palace after going once through those doors. Ar-Pharazôn was only interested in novelty.  
The girls that the king admitted were always young, without exception; too young probably. And the older Ar-Pharazôn grew, the younger became his visitors. It seemed as if that man, already in the decadence of his days, tried desperately to cling to youth or wanted to steal it from the maidens.  
Also with the passing of years, the king's head became uncovered of hair and his stomach covered with fat, wrinkles replaced battle scars, and the cup of wine in his left hand the sword in his right one. His stature shrunk after spending so much time sitting on the throne, but his ego kept swelling.  
  
One afternoon, after dismissing the last of the girls with insults and threats, the king called Sauron to the throne room and invited him to sit beside him. Judging by the smell of his breath and the numerous red spots on the floor, he had been drinking without moderation.  
  
-Come, Tar-Mairon, my loyal counselor, sit here with me. And tell me, why have you never wanted to share my maidens? Many times I have offered them to you and you have rejected my gift, perhaps you don’t like them? Or is it that you are ungrateful?  
  
Sauron smiled modestly.  
  
-My king, it’s not that. What happens is that I gave my virginity to the god Melkor, and my body is devoted to him only. Since his death I live in the most absolute chastity.  
  
-Oh, of course, that! -muttered the king between his teeth.- And was your Lord beautiful? Beautiful as a girl?  
  
-Yes, my king. -he lied.  


Maybe Melkor had some inexplicable beauty, at least for him. But his eyes burning with anger, his lips twisted into a curse and his face torn by eagles didn’t make him, so to speak, “beautiful as a girl”.  
  
-I hate them! Those young girls. –groaned Ar-Pharazôn, and after taking another sip of wine, he threw the cup on the floor. The noise of the metal reverberated through the room for a few seconds.- I hate them because their skin is smooth and their body strong! Because they have many years of life ahead, and because they will still live for many more when I'm gone! Is it perchance fair that a king dies just as a plebeian? And I look at you, Tar-Mairon, and see that you’re still the same as always, that there’s no new line on your face after almost fifty years. -the king stared at him with drunken and dangerous eyes- Does yours still work?  
  
-How dost thou say, thy Majesty?  
  
And then, without warning, Ar-Pharazôn put his hand between the Maia’s legs and began to grope him. Sauron gasped and looked away, as if nothing happened, as he let blood flow to his cheeks and his lower abdomen.  
  
-Yes, it works. Damn it! -he heard the king say, and this withdrew his hand letting the Maia breathe at last- Mine instead only works thanks to the potions of my sorcerers. Why it should be so, tell me, if I'm King of Kings? Why you, who are but a captive and exiled lord, will remain young when Ar-Pharazôn the Golden is dust under the Meneltarma?  
  
The old man tried to grab the cup, but then remembered that he had thrown it to the floor, and shifted in his seat while he cursed bitterly. Sauron drew the cup towards him with a gesture, and it landed on the palm of his hand. Then he ran his finger along the edge, and from the interior of the goblet sprouted a flower, red as wine, and blossomed before the curious eyes of the king.  
  
-The Ainur have power over life. -he said, and with a snap of his fingers the rose burst into ashes.- And over death. But that is a power that the land of Aman gave us.  
  
The Maia gave the cup to Ar-Pharazôn; it was full of wine again. The king didn’t dare to drink it, and instead raised an eyebrow, intrigued.  
  
-What do you mean that the power was given to you by the land of Aman? Explain away!  
  
-Yes, thou wilt see, my Lord. The only reason why the Ainur and the Eldar are immortal is because they have ever walked in the Undying Lands. Once anyone, of whatever race, reaches the western end of the world and bathes in the primordial Darkness, he remains young and safe from death forever. Even if he later returned to Middle Earth, that power would never go away.  
  
Ar-Pharazôn set his crown aside to scratch his bald head, a bit confused.  
  
-But then, what about the Elves who didn’t heed the call of the Valar? Aren’t they immortal?  
  
-No, of course not, but they promote the legend. Only Thingol was, but Thingol, as it’s known, had visited Aman. Immortality was transmitted to his offspring but not because they were of the race of the Maiar and Eldar. The West is the key to immortality. The only thing that separates Men and Elves is the ban of the Valar, an arbitrary ban that gives privileges to one race and take them away from another, with no reason but envy and fear towards Men.  
  
Ar-Pharazôn was having great difficulty to assimilate that information, and Sauron realized how he clenched his fists and how his face turned more and more red, but not because of wine. He had seen these reactions before, and knew where they led; in that respect, all the mighty lords were similar.  
  
-Traitors, I curse all those treacherous Valar!! And I curse the lies of the Eldar! -he shouted, rising from the throne and throwing the cup to the floor once more, whose contents splashed on both like drops of blood.- How dare they keep this from me, ME, Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, the first among the kings of Arda!? With what right, with what right they deny ME the entry into Aman!? The ban ... Now I see everything clear. There is no such ban, there is no such danger! Only deception, deception everywhere and around me!! Who can I trust? Not even my counselors as I can see! -he turned then to Sauron with homicidal wrath and pointed the finger at him- And you! Why have you concealed this information for so long? You told me how Melkor created all races equal in the beginning, and how death didn’t exist back then, but why didn’t you tell me that there was still hope for Men in Aman? Are you a traitor as well!?  
  
Sauron shrunk on his seat and adopted that expression half frightened and half tearful that he had so well rehearsed.  
  
-M... Majesty, I do not... I do not... –the king grabbed his arm and threw him to the floor before him; despite his age he was still a strong man. The Maia crawled at his feet and begged with faltering voice, as he had seen his human servant do many times.- I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know until now that thou wishedst to be immortal. And because I thought that thy life here was as blissful as a life can ever be. I saw thee so perfect, so wise and so admired by all, that the idea that thou couldst envy the Valar or the Eldar seemed an absurdity to me. In any case, they should envy thee. I regret having misunderstood thy wishes, but fortunately I was able to rectify in time. Thou art strong and courageous, and the journey to the Undying Lands should be easy for thy imposing navy.  
  
Ar-Pharazôn calmed down a bit; flattery had always been an effective balm for his anger.  
Thereafter, the king started pacing around the room, meditating and muttering under his breath, and Sauron took the opportunity to stand up and regain what little dignity he had left.  
  
-Certainly, my navy is more than enough for an expedition to the West. And Númenórean sailors are the best of all Middle Earth. Ummm! But maybe... maybe I should build a new fleet, one with the most recent advances in naval engineering...  
  
-My king, if thou allowest me, I still have the plans for the war machines I designed over these years for thy armies. If thou art interested, I could...  
  
Ar-Pharazôn came out of his machinations, and looked at the Maia with the lost eyes of a just awakened somnambulist.  
  
-Are you still here, Mairon? Go away at last! Can’t you see I'm thinking? And bring me those plans!  
  
Sauron lowered his head slavishly and left the room.  
He had waited many years for the situation to be ripe and ready for vengeance; now he could finally reap the fruits of his patience. Númenor was doomed, and it would fall in the most terrible way; he knew all too well the wrath of the Valar when someone stood between them and their idyllic existence.  
In the fight against Melkor they had delayed their master stroke for a whole age, indeed, but now the attackers were simple men and headed directly to their claws. The carnage would be spectacular, and Sauron just had to sit and enjoy it.  
  
The building and rearmament of the new fleet of Ar-Pharazôn began almost immediately, and although the ships lined up in the western havens of the island, very few guessed the intentions of the king at first. People thought it was another war campaign against the Haradrim, or against any other inferior people, and that if the fleet had gathered in the West, it was just so that enemy lookouts couldn’t spot it from the coasts of Middle Earth.  
However, despite the initial secrecy, the Faithful discovered the true nature of the campaign. Then worrying news started reaching the ears of Ar-Pharazôn.  
The spies who had infiltrated among the friends of the Elves spoke of increasing forces, of weapon forging, and of clandestine bases. The brutal repression against the rebels forced them into hiding for a while, but new outbreaks resurfaced here and there, and they didn’t dare to touch Amandil.  
  
Meanwhile, Sauron chose not to worry about these issues for the time being, as long as the expedition kept going. And he strolled around the island alone.  
One day after sunset, watching the city of Armenelos from a hill, that gave off faint gold sparkles in the darkness of twilight, he suddenly remembered his Shadow.  
He had told that man to mingle with the victorious Edain. Couldn’t he be perhaps somewhere in Númenor, then? And if it was so, he should warn him about the doom that hovered over the island and take him to Mordor. He still tried to recover the fragments of his past and sew them back together, if only to put a patch on his torn life.  
Sauron sent many emissaries to each point of Númenor, but none found his old servant, despite the fact that his appearance couldn’t pass unnoticed easily. And he sent also messengers to Umbar, a colony where almost all Númenóreans sympathized with him and were devotees of the cult of Melkor; a good place for his man to hide. But he didn’t find him there.  
A pirate told him that slave trade was prevalent among the Haradrim, and if they had sold him there were two options: Either his servant was now a pleasure toy for some warlord. Or, if he was strong, he would be breaking his back while carrying stones to build fortresses in the South.  
Sauron lowered his head, sad; the first option was unlikely, and the second even more so, because his Shadow had been no more than skin and bones.  
The Maia realized that he must have died, and in his heart he murmured a few words of farewell. Probably it was better for the poor creature this way.  
  
Although the search had failed, Sauron kept touring the island and enjoying the freedom of movement that Ar-Pharazôn had given him over the years.  
He only went to the palace if the king required him, but on those occasions he felt constantly observed. At first it was a vague impression, as if the eyes of all the guards were fixed upon him. But then, scanning the minds of the courtiers, he discovered the source of this surveillance.  
It was the queen. He had barely exchanged a word with that woman since he was taken to Númenor in chains. She had always shunned him, had always averted her eyes from his face, and always had the same expression of bitterness and contempt in her lips. But lately, Ar-Zimraphel seemed to be everywhere.  
If Sauron quietly walked down a corridor, there she was in the upper gallery. If he sat in the courtyard by the fountain and played with the water, there she was behind a pillar. If he strolled through the perfumed gardens of the palace, she soon appeared, looking out from the balcony to watch him. Those eyes were like daggers perpetually stuck in his back.  
Only when the Maia acknowledged her presence and looked back at her, the queen frowned, clenched her jaw, and departed in silence.  
Other times Ar-Zimraphel disappeared mysteriously, and Sauron suspected that she was the one who reported to the Faithful about the plans of the king. But he said nothing of this to Ar-Pharazôn, not yet. Instead, he bought the loyalties of the queen’s maidservants, so that they spied her movements and kept him informed.  
Shortly thereafter Sauron saw his suspicions confirmed, and also found out that the commitment of the queen with the cause of the rebels was even greater than he thought.  
  
A certain night the Maia was sitting across his desk, drawing some plans for the king and totally absorbed in his work, when he sensed a change in the air of the room. This had become dense, and a swirl of hatred grazed his neck. Without looking away from the plans, Sauron merely made a gesture with his hand, and then he heard behind him the sound of metal hitting the ground and a woman's scream.  
Turning around, with a smile of superiority, he found Ar-Zimraphel fallen on the floor with a knife. Her long black braid was partially undone and in her eyes burned the rage of a cornered animal.  
  
-What wert thou doing, Majesty, in my room and with a knife at this time of night? One would say that, either thou wert bringing me a letter opener, or thou wert trying to murder me.  
  
-Murdering thee would be fine, evil one! -cried the queen, and with a quick motion she picked up the knife and charged against Sauron.  
  
The Maia jumped from his chair and stopped her without much effort, while the woman kept stabbing the air desperately.  
  
-No, no, no. What an inappropriate behaviour for a queen! Besides, dost thou know not that I’m a Maia and weapons are useless against me? -Sauron took the knife and placed it on the table, out of her reach.  
  
Ar-Zimraphel let out a cry of frustration and struggled in vain, until the Maia subdued her by force. Defeated, the queen lowered her arms and stood before him, distilling pure poison through her eyes.  
  
\- Why wert thou trying to kill me? I haven’t done anything to thee, and I've always been a faithful counselor to the king.  
  
-To me thou hast not done anything, true, but thou hast to my people! Corrupting them with thy lies, drawing them to darkness and evil cults, stirring hatred against the Eldar and the Valar. Thou wilt bring disgrace upon us all!  
  
Sauron shook his head disapprovingly and began pacing through the room as if he was deep in thought, in front of the paralyzed woman.  
  
-This is not what I wanted, no, it is not... -he murmured under his breath - Everything has gone wrong.  
  
-What has gone wrong!?  
  
Sauron looked at the queen and bit his lip in distress, as he took a few tentative steps toward her. Ar-Zimraphel made as if to move back, but in the end she stood firmly in place.  
  
-I don’t care what others think about me. But that precisely thou hatest me this way, is something I find unbearable. -he admitted, with a sweet voice full of sorrow. The queen blinked and Sauron felt how confusion wrapped her irritation.  
  
-Why shouldn’t I hate thee? Thou art nothing but a vile sorcerer, a seducer of innocents, and I guess one of the lovers of my husband as well. Each time thou rollest around on bed with him, thou art spitting on my name, humiliating me in front of the court. I think these are more than valid reasons to hate thee.  
  
Such harshness! In that moment the soul of the woman was uncovered before him like an open book, and Sauron could read clearly all the insecurities, all the resentment, all the complexes that it housed, and the true motivation for her actions.  
She was a weak being, a puppet. And easy to manipulate.  
In a second he calculated the thousand possible consequences of the decision that he was about to take, and the result was favourable.  
The Maia laughed.  
  
-Me the lover of Ar-Pharazôn? Oh, no, I haven’t had the honour, I assure thee! The king is devoted to the female sex, I'm afraid. And I don’t think he would look at me with desire even if he had drunk a whole barrel of wine and I threw myself naked at his feet. -Sauron licked his lips and played discreetly with the button of his robe, as if he thought about opening it right there. He soon checked how Ar-Zimraphel blushed and stepped back; fine, he had managed to create the image in her head.- I must confess that this narrowness is a rarity among men, if I know anything about them...  
  
-And is faithfulness to their wives also a rarity among men, Tar-Mairon? –replied the queen sarcastically.  
  
-As rare among them as common is jealousy among women.  
  
-It’s not jealousy! I just want to be respected. But why do I tell this to thee, to my enemy?  
  
-I'm not thy enemy, dear Ar-Zimraphel. The enemy of the Faithful yes, the enemy of Amandil and his family, no doubt. But not thine, that's not what I desire at least.  
  
-And what is what thou desirest!? -snapped the queen, defiantly. Sauron moved even closer to her, and with a smile half of complicity, half of shyness, he whispered:  
  
-Isn’t it obvious? Why dost thou think that I want to send the king to the distant West? Why dost thou think that I have awakened in him the desire for immortality? Let him live in the glory of Aman, under the eternal light of Valinor. Everything I want is here, within these four walls, and it will be mine when he’s gone.  
  
The eyes of Ar-Zimraphel opened wide, followed by her mouth.  
Sauron perceived it; a whirlwind of conflicting emotions crowding into her chest. Her chin trembled slightly, a sign that she tried to say something.  
  
-Scoundrel, how darest thou!!? - she yelled finally, outraged.- I’m a married woman!  
  
-Yes, to a man who doesn’t love thee, and that show it to thee every day.  
  
-A man who is the king of Númenor! And I 'm the queen!  
  
-Ah! And don’t queens desire? Don’t queens have passions? -Sauron squinted, with those grey and melancholic eyes that had so often awakened the compassion of the king, and stroked the face of Ar-Zimraphel gently. At this point, she was so confused that her only reaction to the bold move was shuddering.  
  
-I don’t... I don’t believe thee... I don’t believe that thou...  
  
-Don’t believe that a Maia like me could love thee? What happens, is it that the continued despise of Ar-Pharazôn has made thee forget how beautiful thou art?  
  
-I’m no longer young.  
  
-The trees that have blossomed and borne fruit are much more beautiful than the weak green sprouts that break under the slightest of breezes.  
  
The queen put the Maia’s hand away and looked down. Her eyes gave off a watery gleam.  
  
-I haven’t borne fruit, I’m a barren tree... Also, I know perfectly well that thou hast only loved Morgoth the Enemy! Nothing good can be expected from a heart as black as thine, able to give himself to the most abject being that the world has known!  
  
-My dear Ar-Zimraphel, I understand that thou feelst disgusted by me for that fact. I also feel disgusted, every single day of my life. I gave myself to Morgoth, it’s true, but it was against my will. Don’t I deserve another chance just because my body was soiled? Thou shouldst know better than anyone how hard is saying “no” to the demands of a powerful king. -these words touched a hidden spring in the heart of the queen, and when Sauron took her hand, she no longer resisted.- Come, let me show thee. Let me show thee all the pain that is inside me.  
  
The Maia then placed the trembling hand of the woman on his chest, exactly where the Ring had pierced his flesh, and a myriad of images assaulted Ar-Zimraphel’s mind.  
They were false images, created in part by distorted memories, in part by the prejudices of the queen herself, and in part by the open wound of the Ring.  
Before her paraded, with the clarity of reality, scenes in which Sauron was tormented by the same instruments he had used on others. Scenes in which he was taken from his home in Valinor and thrown into a dungeon for the entertainment of Balrogs and other nonexistent monsters. Scenes in which a horrible gigantic Morgoth, the Morgoth of the legends, towered over him and threatened him with Grond. Scenes in which his cruel master slammed him against the wall and raped him until he lost consciousness.  
Ar-Zimraphel withdrew her hand with a scream and covered her face sobbing.  
  
-It's... It's terrible... All that suffering... -she stammered among wails. Sauron put his hand on the woman's shoulder to reassure her.  
  
-I'm sorry, I didn’t want to scare thee. I just wanted to show thee that I too know pain, that I too have been a prisoner. First in Angband and now here. A prisoner as thee.  
  
The queen moved away with a jerk and ran to the door.  
  
-Don’t touch me, thou art corrupted, Wizard! Soiled and corrupted! -and right after she fled down the corridor and disappeared into the shadows.

 

“Stupid” – thought Sauron, twisting his mouth wickedly.  
  
He didn’t have to wait long to see that the seeds he had planted had germinated.  
At first he conceived the possibility that the queen would reveal to Ar-Pharazôn his attempt of seduction, but the gap in trust between the two was too wide after so many years of scorn and infidelity. The king wouldn’t have listened to her, and even if he did, Sauron had at his disposal a half dozen royal chambermaids to testify against his wife. As soon as he knew that Ar-Zimraphel had dealings with the rebels, her credibility would roll on the floor, along with her head.  
That was a possibility, but though beneficial, it wasn’t the best. Sauron preferred to keep that woman in the game. A pawn with contacts among the Faithful was a useful pawn, especially if it enjoyed such authority and esteem as that.  
  
Fortunately, the queen chose another path, and from that day onwards she devoted herself to spy on the Maia, though with very different eyes. No matter what he did, she managed to bump into him, and then stared at him from a distance. Gradually, she even tried to approach him with the excuse of bringing a message from the king or giving him instructions. And all the while she watched him from the corner of her eye, and sometimes a melancholic sigh escaped her.  
Sauron didn’t know much about women, but one thing he knew was that compassion was an easy and short way into their hearts. The queen started seeing him less as a villain and more as a victim. Or at least, she forced herself to see him like that.  
Because for a long time Ar-Zimraphel had been secretly waiting for a saviour, someone who would take her far away from there, far from that self-centered and authoritarian king. And if her hopes should rest with Sauron himself, the Dark Lord, then so be it. She repeated in her head the words she wanted to hear: that someone loved her, that someone cared for her, over and over again, until her own illusions seemed truths.  
Sauron let these feelings grow in her, and meanwhile he completely ignored the woman. The expedition to Aman was suffering setbacks, and that was his main concern.  
The friends of the Elves were firm in their opposition to the project, and were a constant source of conflicts and problems. So much, that Ar-Pharazôn had been forced to postpone the trip, afraid of a civil war in his absence.  
Sauron was tired of repeating him that there was nothing to fear. All in vain; old age had turned the king ambitious, but also cowardly and insecure.  
  
Thus, and seeing that the Maia gave no signs of wanting to approach her, the queen herself came in his way one day.  
Sauron was about to enter his room, when Ar-Zimraphel slipped from behind a pillar and stood between him and the door.  
  
-How should I interpret thy indifference, Tar-Mairon? Hast thou perchance forgotten about me, after everything thou saidst last time? Or is it that thou hast finally gained access to the bed of my husband and art more than satisfied? -she said, with wounded pride.  
  
Sauron inwardly cursed that ill-timed encounter, just then when he had so much to do. However, he disguised his nuisance with polite modesty.  
  
-Believe me when I say that I regret dearly my neglect of the last few days. I've been extremely busy, and didn’t dare to approach thee. I was afraid that they might discover us, and especially, I thought thou didst not want to know anything about me.  
  
-Well, now we're alone and thou hast me in front of thee. Couldst thou not give me a sign that thy love is true? Or should I trust words that aren’t supported by any facts?  
  
Sauron was getting impatient. The woman didn’t get out of his way and a guard could appear anytime and discover them.  
She must have gone mad.  
  
-My dear Ar-Zimraphel, with all honesty I...  
  
-Stop calling me Ar-Zimraphel, I hate that name! -she snapped harshly- My real name is Tar-Míriel, and this is how thou mustest call me.  
  
Then, without warning, the woman jumped on him and kissed him. A desperate and furious kiss, that tried to rip something from him, some passion, some desire, anything that confirmed her hopes.  
But Sauron stiffened, and an icy stream ran through his whole body. A stream that warned of impending disaster.  
  
-Treason!! -the shout echoed in each pillar and was multiplied as a chorus of accusers.  
  
Indeed, the bad omen that Sauron had just had, was fulfilled as inexorable as lightning.  
The queen separated from him at once and they both looked into the corridor, whence the shout had come. Ar-Pharazôn was petrified with a torch in his hand, every muscle in his face contracted into a hideous mask of fury. Just then he headed to the bedchamber of the Maia to check some last minute plans.  
Everything seemed so meticulously orchestrated, that Sauron wondered if his fate was directed by a sadistic and trickster Eru.  
  
-Traitor!! -repeated the king, still not moving from his site- Traitor, dirty treacherous wizard! Guards, guards, arrest this insolent right now!! He has attacked the honour of my wife!  
  
The clank of the guards was heard in the distance. Ar-Zimraphel, gnawed by guilt, tried to explain what had happened, but Sauron covered her mouth and took full responsibility. He began to have a vague idea of the use he could give that woman, but he needed her full trust for it. Letting her suffer the punishment wouldn’t prove anything. And little he feared the wrath of Ar-Pharazôn. What could do that man to him? Whipping him a bit? He would survive that, for sure.  
A group of guards arrived seconds later and two of them grabbed him by the arms. Sauron made no attempt to resist.  
  
-Take him to the dungeons and show him how are treated wive thieves in the court of Ar-Pharazôn! And since my queen seems distraught by the fate of this scoundrel, take her too so she can see everything. But don’t put a finger on her. I'll take care of her punishment myself. -and under the light of the torch, the king's bloated face took on a sinister appearance.  
  
A third guard grabbed Ar-Zimraphel and drove her behind the prisoner, among sobs. When Sauron passed by Ar-Pharazôn, the man grabbed his arm violently and hissed between teeth:  
  
-Poorly have you paid me for my hospitality, Wizard, and poorly have you kept your vow of chastity. We'll see if after your punishment, you still feel man enough to assault other’s women.  
  
Sauron was thrown into a cell that reeked of moisture and salt, and a group of soldiers stood before him, examining him grimly. In one corner, Ar-Zimraphel still cried.  
  
-We cannot do this. This is Tar-Mairon, a sacred Ainu and the main servant of the god Melkor. It's a vile deed! - muttered one of the men, addressing the one who seemed to be their captain.  
  
-If Ar-Pharazôn wants it thus, then we will do it thus. Whether it can be done or not. The king's will is above the will of any god. -replied his superior, and pulled out a flask full of alcohol, which he gave to his soldiers - Drink! And try not to look at his face, if that makes ye feel better.  
  
Sauron felt how fear began to assail him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so easy to endure the punishment, after all.  
The Ring called him, tempting, asking him to put it on his finger, urging him to display his power in all its magnitude. He could get rid of those men in a second, he could escape from Númenor with a simple wish and return to Barad-dûr, and keep building his empire...  
Yes, and keep suffering the constant insults of those Númenóreans.  
He was too close to achieving his purpose to leave now and ruin everything. Who cared if Ar-Pharazôn punished him, believing him a thief of wives? The king didn’t love his wife, and within a couple of days he would have forgotten the incident. That was just a show of superiority, and a reminder to his wife that she was his property. One last test, one last bitter drink before final victory.  
Therefore, Sauron bowed his head and surrendered to his captors.  
  
He wasn’t sure how many guards went through him, and he didn’t want to keep account of it either. His whole thought centered on the idea that this body was not himself, that the pain wasn’t real.  
It wasn’t real but, oh, how it hurted! And in the background he kept hearing the cries of Ar-Zimraphel, hitting him in the head, reminding him of his humiliation. Wouldn’t she ever shut up?  
When the soldiers finished with him, they allowed the queen to approach the Maia and discreetly left the cell.  
The woman picked up the robe from the floor and threw it around his shoulders, embracing his chest and apologizing a million times.  
  
-This is all my fault! How could I doubt thy love after what thou hast suffered to protect me!? I'm so stupid!  
  
Sauron was in full agreement with the latter, but swallowed his resentment and wiped the tears from her face.  
  
-Do not worry, it’s over now. Besides, I'm a Maia, and I’m above such things.  
  
-But thou art bleeding! And it was... it was awful. I knew nothing about these abominable torments. I'm so disgusted by all... By this court, by those guards, even by the king! Please, Mairon, let’s flee from here, I can’t bear it anymore. Let’s flee to Middle Earth, away, away! Let go of the past. Thou canst redeem the evil thou didst, thou hast already shown me with this gesture of selflessness. And I can start from scratch.  
  
-I would love to run away with thee and leave behind the Dark Lord, the servant of Morgoth, and the corrupt court of Ar-Pharazôn. But Míriel, we’ll never do it while the king still sits on the throne of the golden city and owns our lives. –then Sauron grabbed the woman firmly by the shoulders and looked straight into her eyes, as if to say something extremely important- Listen to me, there’s something thou mustest do if thou wantest us to be free. Ar-Pharazôn won’t dare to leave for the Undying Lands as long as the rebels keep opposing him and threatening a civil war. But thou art a friend of the Faithful, and thee they will listen. Talk to them, ask them to lay down their arms and leave the king alone. Amandil and his son Elendil are among the most moderate of the Faithful, they enjoy great authority and feel deep affection for thee. No doubt thou canst convince them to find another solution. Just don’t mention my name; act as if all this was the fruit of thy wisdom and thy concern for their safety. And when Ar-Pharazôn is gone to enjoy his immortal life with the Valar, he will never want to return. Thou mustest not worry about this trip; the Valar won’t cause any harm to the king, and much less so to thy people. I guarantee thee, I know them very well. Thou wilt claim then the throne of Númenor, thy birthright, which that evil man stole from thee, and thou wilt give back dignity to this kingdom. Or, if thou preferst, thou canst leave the steward in charge and come with me to Middle Earth. But whatever is it that thou decidest, I will always be by thy side.  
  
Ar-Zimraphel almost melted of joy upon hearing those hollow promises. And to the Maia’s annoyance, she pressed against him and covered his face with kisses.  
  
-Yes, so I’ll do, Mairon, so I’ll do! Do not worry, I'll take care of everything. Very soon, my beloved, very soon we will be free!  
  
Sauron rested his head on the shoulder of the queen and put an arm around her. A sly smile crept into the corners of his lips.  
  
”Yes, very soon you will be free, my dear. But not in the way you expect” -he thought, and the power of the Ring vibrated in his chest, anxious to escape.  
  
After this episode, Sauron had to endure the knowing glances of the courtiers, who got out of his way when he passed by, as if they feared that the mere proximity to him, would dishonour them too. Ar-Pharazôn let out a vile laugh when he entered the throne room limping on a leg, and stared at him from head to toe, with lascivious eyes that seemed to mentally undress him. His anger soon passed, however, and Sauron recovered his good relationship with the king. But he didn’t forget.  
For her part, the queen wasn’t seen for several days, and when she finally came out of her chamber, a black ring around her right eye could still be guessed. A sign of affection from her husband.  
  
But Ar-Zimraphel kept her promise, and in the days that followed, the turmoil of the rebels declined, while the weather turned worse and worse. The island, which until then had always enjoyed mild temperatures and rainfall in good measure, was suddenly ravaged by hail and storms. Ar-Pharazôn blamed the Faithful for these phenomena, accusing them of angering Melkor with their blasphemies. And in an act of exquisite hypocrisy, he ordered the execution of the guards that had humiliated Tar-Mairon, to appease the wrath of the god.  
That's when the eagles first appeared on the red horizon. A mass of clouds pregnant with lightning and tempest, that shook the island from its roots to the top of the Meneltarma.  
Ar-Pharazôn changed his policy in sight of this new wonder, and overnight, the culprits were not the Faithful, but the Valar themselves.  
With nothing more preventing him from reaching the coveted shores of Aman, with the rebels under control and the challenge of the Valar stirring him up, the king set sail a misty morning to never return.  
  
From the temple’s dome, Sauron watched how the scarlet sails stretched across the sea, foreshadowing the rivers of blood that would soon cover it.  
It was done.  
A servant came to inform him that there was still no new of Amandil, whom had disappeared a few days before, but Sauron didn’t care anymore about the fate of that family. They would die buried under the ocean that had buried Angband, and he wouldn’t know about them again, nor about any other Númenórean. Only those loyal to him that had settled in Umbar would survive.  
And while the end came, Sauron had nothing else to do but wait.  
Ar-Zimraphel often sought him, but the Maia had ordered the priests of Melkor not to let anyone inside the temple. They believed that Tar-Mairon needed to focus on his prayers to assist the king in his perilous journey. Actually, Sauron focused on himself, all his senses in suspension, until only the Ring was left, only that little gold circle throbbing in the middle of his chest, the only refuge away from those hateful Númenóreans that had brought so much suffering to him.  
  
”Soon, my beloved, soon we'll be together. Again.”  
  
It was in this state that the first earthquake surprised the Maia. And suddenly a very ancient and very familiar presence entered the temple through the hole in the dome, and Sauron shivered when his hand touched him.  
Would it be possible that it was Him?  
A new earthquake shook the walls and threw him to the floor face down, while the tremor of a tear rose to heaven from the very core of Arda.  
Sauron went up quickly to the dome to see what was happening.  
The War of Wrath had been a trifle compared with what he found then.  
The heavens revolved in black spirals, a thousand cracks opened in the ground like a thousand mouths and swallowed the houses and their inhabitants, and the edge of the world, there in the West, was bending over itself in the most unnatural of deformations.  
The inertia of the movement forced Sauron to hold onto the pinnacle of the temple, and euphoria, and fear, and confusion mingled in his heart in a delicious way. He raised his head defiantly to heavens and shouted:  
  
-Look, Melkor, I've achieved what thou couldst never achieve! I have awaken the ire of Eru, I, thy servant, a Maia, have been worthy of more attention than thou throughout thy reign in Arda! Canst thou hear me, my Lord!? Canst thou hear the yell of the earth upon bending over!? The whole world cries, and it’s because of me! I have done this, I have changed the shape of the world! I'm now mightier than thou ever wert!  
  
But no one answered to his challenge. Melkor didn’t come down to him, Melkor didn’t punish him for his insolence, as he had desired in the depths of his soul, if only to see him again, just once again. And this made him mad with anger and helplessness.  
He cast his gaze back toward the East, and saw from afar nine ships as nine insignificant wood chips, thrown into the air with each thrust of the sea. Who were those fools who dared to sail in the middle of the end? Sauron didn’t care. They would be carrion for abysal fishes, like the rest.  
  
A woman's voice called him from below.  
Ar-Zimraphel was there, her hair and clothes waving soaked under the storm, and her face the living picture of panic.  
  
-What happens, Mairon, why do the Valar attack us? Thou saidst that there was nothing to fear, do we deserve their anger? I'm so scared, my beloved! What are we going to do?  
  
The queen held out her suppliant hands to him, hoping that her saviour enveloped her in his arms and somehow brought her out of there by magic.  
But Sauron laughed from atop the dome.  
  
-Oh my dear, I only know what I’m going to do! I’ll get out of this accursed island and safely return to Mordor, to continue my conquest of Middle Earth exactly where I left it. Regarding what thou dost, frankly, I do not care in the least. But thou canst stay here and sink with thy people, as befits a queen. From now onwards thou art alone. I’ve already paid a too high price for thy love!  
  
Ar-Zimraphel stepped back, covering her mouth in horror as her eyes filled with tears. A lightning bolt struck near the temple, and in the blaze that followed she could see for a moment the Maia as he was in reality: Sauron the Abhorred, the lieutenant of Angband, the Dark Lord, with his eye of fire and his fangs bared in a demonic smile. The woman screamed terrified and ran away disoriented, each time faster and with all sanity lost, until her faint figure disappeared behind a curtain of rain.  
Sauron laughed for a long time, reveling in the destruction around him. However, when he looked back toward the West, his laughter suddenly ceased.  
The sky had disappeared behind a wall of water that rose higher and higher, until it touched the sky with its crown of foam, and moved toward him swallowing the world in its wake.  
It all happened in a second.  
Water surrounded him until crushing him, his clothes were torn, his flesh and bones were broken to pieces, every atom of his body dissolved. Amid the darkness was only left the Ring, a slight golden gleam buried under tons of water.  
And to that gleam clung Sauron.  
The last thing, the least thing that was left of him.  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may wonder how it's possible that Sauron has the Ring in Númenor, when it seems in Silmarillion that he only put it back when he returns to Mordor. I had doubts about it, but then and quite by chance, I stumbled upon one of the letters of Tolkien (letter 211), in which he said that Sauron had the Ring with him while in the island, so I chose that option.  
> As for the details in the story of Celebrimbor, like his infatuation with Galadriel or his end as (ahem!) "banner" for Sauron, they are taken from Unfinished Tales, where these matters are more expanded upon.


	6. The Watcher on the Pinnacle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers the period from the war of the Last Alliance to right before the war of the Ring. Featuring disembodied Lovecraftian Sauron, some Balrog cuddling and the return of the Shadow.  
> I have to mention a great Sauron/Melkor fanfic also in this site, "Loyalty Unyielding" by Zlu and Luff, for inspiration at the time of writing Ring-less Sauron. I had this idea for a long time that Sauron should turn somehow unstable and amnesiac after losing the Ring, and after re-reading their fanfic I finally realized from where I got that idea XD.

_Alive without breath,  
As cold as death;_

-The Hobbit (Riddles in the Dark)

Tedium was indescribable in the fortress of Dol Guldur.  
Dead in life and trapped between those walls, Sauron wondered if he was sentenced to spend the rest of his immortal existence like that: a naked and dim ghost, barely a shadow of evil.  
He had already suffered this before, but he couldn't remember where. The past had begun to fade, and increasingly, all his thought was reduced to a fixed idea, to a round and shiny image. Where had he failed? When exactly had appeared the fissure in his master plan that had led him to this pitiful state? The loss of his ability to change shape after the sinking of Númenor was the first warning that something was wrong. But it hadn't been then... Oh, yes! He remembered a battle. If he had known how much trouble would bring Elendil and his son Isildur, and those nine ships that escaped from the island, he would have taken care of killing his entire family when he had still the chance. But the battle had been favourable, or so he believed. Yes, he remembered having personally destroyed the two great lords of Elves and Men. But thereafter... an ill-timed blow, a spectacular fall, a metallic shine, and his life, his precioius had vanished. Stolen. Stolen by a thief who should have had his fingers cut a long time ago. It had been very dark around him after that.  
For a very long time.

Sauron stretched his ethereal form through the stone chamber, coiled several times around himself and regrouped besides a chest. Inside were his other minor treasures: the nine rings of Men, and the two rings that he had retrieved from the Dwarves. He stroked them for a while, dissolved himself into thin strips and went through them, curling around the polished surface and feeling the friction of their power against his disembodied spirit. He shuddered several times with pleasure. It was a small comfort, but not comparable to the comfort of the One. Where was it? Where was his Ring?

An icy presence burst in the fortress. The leader of the Nazgûl, the Witch-king, had just returned from his northern kingdom.  
A little distraction among the uniform tedium.

-My Lord, I bring bad news from Angmar. –he said bluntly, with a hollow voice of crypt.

Sauron hissed and wrapped around him menacingly. He could feel the wraith faltering inside, even when his apparent determination tried to hide it.

-And my Ring? Where is it!?

-We still don't know anything about its whereabouts.

-Is that the bad news? Because it's the worst news you could bring me.

The wraith let out an agonized scream as his lord stung him in the neck to transmit the pain of his loss. The Witch-king already knew that pain very well. But perpetual torment had served him at least to banish any fears about his fate, and so he didn't hesitate before saying the following:

-No, my Lord, there's still more. The bad news is that the kingdom of Angmar has fallen. We were attacked by a large army from Gondor, led by the king's son, Eärnur. There's nothing left. The good news is that there's nothing left of the kingdom of Arnor either. If some descendant of the king is still alive, he will have no longer a land to rule. Never again. And the wolves will do the rest.

Sauron concentrated in a ball of anger, and then let it explode and reverberate for a while between the salty walls of the fortress. The Witch-king bowed the head upon the assault. But the Maia soon recovered.  
The end of Angmar was secondary, and after all, that brief reign had already accomplished its task of destroying the Dúnedain of the North.

-Where are the Seeing Stones? Did ye find them? –whispered Sauron, sliding through the right socket of the wraith.

-No, my Lord. There's nothing left. -repeated his servant.- I've heard that there is still a stone in the North, on the coast. But it only looks towards the sea. It's useless.

-I need those stones, I need to see! -roared the Maia, coming out through the other socket of the wraith with violence, and making him wail.- I need to see more, farther, I need to cast my eye on the last corner of Arda! Until finding it, until finding my Ring! You're a worthless servant. I should now absorb every drop of your fragile essence. Thus I would strengthen myself at least, while getting rid of a nuisance. -and separating in a thousand disembodied appendages, Sauron touched tentatively the wraith, probing him, showing him how easy it would be for him to rip the remains of his already pale being.- Nevertheless, I think that keeping you tied to this world is a worse punishment for you. And besides, I need an agent to fulfill my will outside. Yes... You will live your unlife a little more. Until I get tired, until you're no longer useful to me, or until the growing hunger forces me to eat you. I want a body, I want a body and my Ring.

-What dost thou command, my Lord?

-Go back to Mordor. Gather the Nazgûl. And make sure to settle up with that Eärnur that has humiliated you in such an unforgivable way.

The Witch-king bowed, and then his presence evaporated from the chamber. Sauron stayed a while suspended in the air, allowing the fragments of the world around to penetrate in his spirit, so maybe he would receive something, a memory or image that still floated in the fabric of Arda and that could discover him new things.  
But in Dol Guldur there was nothing new. There wasn't anything new ever. Thus he went back to the chest and intertwined with the rings for the umpteenth time as he waited, weak and hungry and always with the same idea fixed in his mind.

The next time the door of the fortress opened, only entered the quiet shadow of a Nazgûl, that opening his hand, showed him a phial. Within this writhed the soul of a man, and its desperation gave off a greenish and quivering glow in the gloom of the chamber.  
The wraith placed the phial on a stone table and returned to Mordor without uttering a single word, as quietly as he had entered.  
Sauron stretched a part of his spirit until it became as thin as a thread, and with it he came through the phial's glass and made contact with the imprisoned soul. At first this resisted with disgust and tried to evade the fingers that were all around it, but its strenght was already greatly diminished, and it finally accepted the union. Sauron could feel it clearly now; the lack of a body had its advantages after all, and allowed interrogation techniques seldom used until then, though no less efficient.

-Name? -asked the Maia.

-Eärnur, king of Gondor.

-Last king of Gondor, and last of the Dúnedain, as I have understood. Your lineage is extinct forever.

The spirit stirred and its green glow turned pale with uncertainty.

-Dead? Me?

-Almost. You were pierced by a sword of my Ringwraiths. You are no longer entirely in this world, nor in the next. It's the state of maximum suffering that exists, and I can prolong it as much as I see fit. Let's be brief, then.

-Not Eru?

Sauron let out a laughter that vibrated through his prey.

-Not yet, if indeed Eru receives you, pathetic Men, after death. That will come later, when your answers satisfy me. Not in vain they call me the Necromancer; I can extract any secret from those that are "almost" dead. The choice is yours whether you want to do it willingly or forcefully.

-Willingly, yes? -Sauron chuckled and stroked the ghost with mocking compassion.

-I like that better. Tell me now, what happened? And try to be as coherent as possible, or I'll cause you pain. Lots of pain.

The Maia moved his disembodied fingers a little deeper inside the unfortunate wraith, as a warning. And the glow of this acquired a reddish tone of alarm.

-I tell everything. Quick. First the city of Minas Ithil was conquered by the Witch-king. It's Minas Morgul now, and inside the tower... inside the tower there is... there is...

\- What's there?

-A stone that sees, far. Palantír of Isildur. The Witch-king wanted revenge, against me. He challenged me once, twice, and I went through the doors of the dead city. Never came back... No more kings in Gondor? Not now?

-What does it matter!? My Ring, tell me where is it! Your hateful ancestor Isildur snatched it from me and I want it. Tell me what ye did with it and I'll let you die in peace!

-I don't know, I do not know... There is a scroll, scroll of Ohtar. Once I read it, in the house besides the waterfall. King Isildur kept the ring, but there was an ambush of Orcs and it was lost. An ambush in... in... -the ghost's voice trailed off and Sauron realized that he was losing it for moments; its contact with the world was practically nonexistent already. Frustrated, he penetrated it even harder, and twisted it from inside to rise it to the surface again. The being moaned and sobbed, but managed to pick up the thread of its speech at just the right moment: - The ring was lost. In the Gladden Fields. In the Gladden Fields, please, please, release me now! No more, no more, no more! It hurts too much...

Sauron loosened his embrace, satisfied with this valuable information. Now at least he knew where to start looking. Now his eye began to see clearer. Although a lot of trouble could have been saved if those Orcs had informed him about the ambush in due time. It seemed that the stupid wretches weren't even able to tell apart a king from a common soldier when they took him down.  
Meanwhile the poor wraith, exhausted and violated in the deepest part of its being, was begging him to let it die and go in peace.  
And the Maia generously granted its wish. He sent a vibration through the phial until breaking it and released the ghost, to immediately afterwards wrap it in his spirit and suck what little was left of its life. Sauron felt slightly strengthened, and the soul of the man departed trembling to that place from which no one returned.

Thus he survived for a while, feeding as a vampire with the essence of other spectral creatures. And with the passing of years his power increased, and the shadow that had fallen on the forest became thicker, and his emissaries, always alert and with hundreds of eyes at his service, extended to its farthest reaches.  
But the Ring was still missing.  
Not even when he looked in the palantír through his servant, the Witch-king of Morgul, managed to see anything of interest, because the other stones were covered and no one dared to use them anymore.  
But his physical abilities began to improve. Every day he received the occasional lost soul, and consuming one after another, always with insatiable voracity, he found that he could condense himself with some willpower. Then he was able to shape an arm, and another arm, and a leg and another leg, and even the resemblance of a head. It was still an ethereal and unstable body, still very fluid, but certainly stronger and more real than his previous shadow.

Absorbed as he was a day on those body experiments, he didn't realize that a strange visitor approached the fortress. Only when the intruder put his hand on the lintel of the doorway, his senses alerted him of the danger. Sauron dissolved then and felt desperately in the dark with his thousand limbs. He sensed a great power radiating from that presence, a power that burned him to the touch. The air of the chamber began to vibrate incandescent around him and he had to shrink. It was a Maia, and he knew him. He had known him in Valinor long time ago. If only his memory wasn't so blurry! Who was it? The sound of footsteps echoed on the flagstones of the entrance, accompanied by a "clack, clack, clack", as the sound of a stick hitting the ground. In a last attempt to find the truth, Sauron expanded again ignoring the burning, and inspected the memories that floated around the intruder.  
Finally he saw him: he was Olórin, a Maia of Lórien. What could he be doing there? Unless... Unless he had come to capture and bring him to trial before the Valar. But he had already been tried by the Valar, or not? No, that was Melkor.  
The name of his Lord tormented him as always, even more than the image of the Ring. With an agonized cry, he fled the chamber right in the moment when Olórin burst into it. He had still time to throw a sideways glance at him, though the other Maia couldn't see him; he was much changed and looked like a grey old man.

Sauron escaped from Dol Guldur terrified, and the outside world hit him like a wall of ice. He realized how incredibly naked was, that even the slightest breeze could dissolve him in the air, and he was very afraid. He tried to seek refuge in the forest but there were Elves there, and though invisible to them, their singing stabbed him as red-hot irons. He roamed through the desolate steppes of the East, but there he found two other strange Maiar, two elders dressed in blue that caused him a great fear. And Mordor was far; he didn't feel strong enough to return yet.  
Thus, he was forced to retrace his steps, and finally found a refuge in the mines of the Misty Mountains.  
The palace of the Dwarves was curiously deserted, and as much as he wandered through its halls, and as much as he searched the high vaults that became lost in the dark and the deep pits that became lost in the earth, he couldn't find a single soul. Starving and shivering with cold, he curled up on himself in a corner and tried to sleep. In the past he used to dwell on the memories of his Lord and on the things that he had done with him when he still had a body, and this helped him to relax and sleep. But now those physical things had no meaning for him, he didn't understand them anymore, and therefore they couldn't comfort him. Though once they had joined their spirits, only for a split second, but they had done so. That he could understand. That and the brush of the Ring.  
Calmer thanks to these pleasant thoughts, Sauron went into hibernation for a while.  
However, not much later a sudden rush of heat woke him. There was a crack in the ground, a few feet from him, and through it came up a very distinctive and familiar smell of fire and sulfur.  
A smell that brought back vague memories of fights, arguments and flaming whips.  
The Maia filtered through the crack, following the hot vapours, and descended through several layers in ruins to the very core of the fortress. There he found it: a huge body covered in flames, snoring loudly in the middle of his peaceful sleep.  
Full of joy, Sauron creeped over the Balrog, expanding himself in countless members that eveloped him to make his presence known. And coming close to his ear he whispered the name that had come to his mind as soon as he saw him: "Gothmog Gothmog Gothmog..."  
The Balrog shifted still sleepy, and finally opened his eyes. Upon noticing the strange wraith coiled around his body, he pushed him aside with a snarl and faced him angrily:

-Who are you, annoying creature that interrupts my rest thus!? I hope you have a good explanation for this! - and reached for the whip menacingly.

-It's me, Gothmog, don't you recognize me?

-I'm not Gothmog, stupid! Gothmog disappeared during the First Age. In which filthy hole have you been hidden all this time to not know even that?

The spirit flickered confused. It was true: Gothmog had died long ago, now he remembered it, in a fleeting image of a grave with a black whip on it. Sauron tried to recover from the blow:

-If you're not Gothmog, who are you then?

-The last of the Balrogs, that's me! And I have no intention of ceasing to be it soon. I have appropriated this comfortable retreat after driving out that nuisance of Dwarves, and nobody is going to move me from here. That's why I'm known as Durin's Bane. But you haven't told me your name yet, and I think that after rubbing against me so lewdly, the least you could do is introduce yourself.

-I am Sauron, the Dark Lord and future lord of Middle-earth.

The Balrog squinted in disbelief at this. But then, upon realizing that the wraith spoke in earnest, he burst into loud laughter that shook the foundations.

-Sauron, the Dark Lord!? Ho, ho, ho! What happened to you, lord lieutenant of Angband? One would say that Eru himself has sliced you, has stirred you a while in the soup of primordial darkness, and then has spit you back in Middle-earth! You look deplorable...

Sauron felt quite ashamed, and as the demon didn't stop laughing, he made an effort to acquire a more dignified body before him. After a few attempts he managed to form a vaguely human shape, though made of flickering shadows; in his left socket reappeared the eye of fire and in his red mouth sharp teeth like daggers.

-Stop making fun, because once I recover all my power you will deeply regret this offense! –he warned him.

The Balrog wiped a couple of tears that began to evaporate on his incandescent cheeks, and stifled the last throes of laughter.

-Well, Dark Lord, to what do I owe the pleasure of this curious visit?

Sauron didn't want to admit that he had been expelled from his stronghold and now needed to take refuge there for a while, but anyway he already had an alternative plan for the Balrog:

-I want you to serve me in Mordor. I already have numerous Orcs and nine wraiths at my service. And it's a matter of time that I gather again the kingdoms of Men under my banner. But I could really use a Maia among my ranks.

The Balrog narrowed his eyes and let out a cloud of steam from his nostrils, little pleased with this proposition.

-Who do you think you are to come here and give me orders? You show up stark naked and pathetic, like a vagabond who has been stripped even of his dignity, and you dare to let out that pompous speech. I've already told you that I have no intention of leaving here, and less so to serve that ruinous kingdom of Mordor! The outside world can sink whole as far as I'm concerned!

-A great part of that world already sank, and it was me who did it!

-Whatever. I only owed allegiance to Gothmog my captain, and to Melkor above all. Not to you.

-I am the new Melkor!

The Balrog let out another mocking laugh.

-If you're the new Melkor, I'm a bearded Dwarf-woman with gold braids. -and turning his back to him, he lay again with the intention of returning to his slumber.

Sauron clenched his teeth outraged, and thanks to the accumulated anger he grew bigger.

-Well, if you're not going to serve me with your strong arm, you will do as fuel for my power. -he hissed, and lunged at him suddenly.

In one second the Balrog found himself struggling with a barely tangible being that changed shape as it suited him, and whose arms disappeared and multiplied each time he tried to hold him. They rolled on the ground and bumped into several walls, from which rocks came off. Sauron screamed like a rabid beast and tried to bite the neck of his opponent, while the latter dug his claws into any point physical enough that he found.

-Surrender, you Balrog deserter! I am the true servant of Melkor, I deserve your power more than yourself, since you don't know to use it well. Give it to me willingly or I'll have to get it out of you drop by drop! Yes, like a vampire if necessary!

-Is that what you've become, Sauron, a vampire!? A parasite that feeds at the expense of other Maiar? -snorted the demon, and he let out an abrasive cloud that blinded him for a moment, enough for him to reach his whip.

With a flick of the wrist, the Balrog wrapped it around his neck and pulled from it to choke him. Sauron disintegrated in part, spreading two black wings over the huge body in an attempt to surround him, but his enemy dissipated them with a flare and pushed him onto his back, falling on him with several tons of weight.  
Sauron moaned in pain and the Balrog quickly immobilized him, pressing his wrists against the hard ground.  
The defeated Maia writhed in agony, struggled to free his members and shook his head angrily. But upon seeing that it was all in vain, strenght abandoned him, his faint body relaxed, and finally submitted, among incoherent cries:

-My Ring, my Ring... Where is it? Oh, my Lord!, where is it?... Why didst thou leave me? I didn't want...

Seeing him thus, so reduced and vulnerable, immobile and still panting from the effort, the Balrog felt sorry for him. Something terrible had happened to the Maia in front of him, something that had broken him inside. Moreover, the wound of his spirit was almost visible with so little matter covering it.

-Oh, Sauron! But what have they done to you? This is not the lieutenant that I knew in Angband. This is not the ruthless but impassive Maia, the Gorthaur of impenetrable expression that always kept a cool head. What happened to you? Who did this to you?

-Everyone... No one... I've done it myself... –muttered the Maia, and a shudder shook him accompanied by another groan.

Weakly, he tried to lift his legs, and the Balrog realized that he had tormented him enough already, and didn't need to immobilize him any longer. Cautiously he released him, and Sauron stayed lying on the ground, breathing heavily and following each of his movements with his only eye.

-Aren't you going to take advantage of the fallen? I would. They all do. -he said bitterly.

But the Balrog grabbed his arm and made him stand up.

-Bah! I'm not a sadist like you. All I want is to be left in peace, but it seems that not even that is possible in this crazy age. What has become of the old world, eh, Gorthaur? -said the Balrog, again in good spirits, and put his muscular arm around his shoulders.

Sauron sighed.  
What had become of the old world, indeed? There were hardly any Ainur left in Middle-earth. He had passed the last centuries surrounded exclusively by men and other lower creatures, and had missed the company of those of his race. If someone had told him in the past that one day he would find comfort in a Balrog, he wouldn't have believed it. But that's how things were, and after all he felt very lonely. So what did it matter if he was a Balrog?

-Let's make peace. It will be the best for both. –proposed Sauron, extending his hand.- I regret having attacked you in this irrational way. Lately I'm not myself.

The demon squeezed that shadow of a hand that was offered to him between his rough claws, almost delicately.

-Of course, there's no problem! I must admit that I never liked you, Gorthaur, but it's high time to bury old enmities. There are very few of us and we must stick together. Now tell me, what happened to you out there to end up like this? I have been in the underground since the War of Wrath and I don't keep abreast with the news.

Sauron rubbed his temples instinctively, in reminiscent of when he still had a proper head.

-Well, I suppose you have heard of the ruin of Mordor after the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. But a lesser-known detail is that of my fall from grace. It wasn't because of any wound by a sword, as rumours say, but due to the loss of an object extremely valuable for me: my Ring of power. A good part of my essence was contained in it and when it was snatched from me... Well, here you see the result. -and opening his arms he showed him his almost translucent figure.- I've been trying to regenerate bit by bit, in a stronghold of Mirkwood, but I only progress very slowly and at the cost of great sacrifices. Things seemed to be improving, however, and my Ringwraiths had taken positions in Mordor to prepare my return. But something went wrong. Now I think they're watching me and... searching for me. -he whispered with secrecy.

The Balrog opened his eyes surprised and somehow uneasy.

-Who? The Valar!? Did they return to Middle-earth?

\- No, no, no. They're not the Valar, but I'd swear by the iron crown of Melkor, that is one of their envoys. Do you remember Olórin?

-Mmm... Vaguely. He was some kind of gardener for that eccentric Vala : Lórien, right?

-Gardener? Well, if you say so... Anyway, I had to flee from my fortress because he was snooping around it, and so I came here to hide. It's all very suspicious.

The Balrog stretched his arms and yawned then, opening his mouth so much that Sauron could even see the fire burning in his stomach and smell its contents, which wasn't pleasant.

-Good grief, Gorthaur, this time you got into some nice trouble, claimed by the justice of Aman! As far as I'm concerned, you can stay here as long as you need to. It's not as if I needed a whole mine to sleep.

-I'm very grateful. Although I 'd like to ask you another favour. I want to place a garrison of Orcs here in the Misty Mountains, to control everything that comes from the West, which is never good. Can I count on your help?

-Pst! As long as the Orcs don't bother me, I won't scorch their backsides. If you want I can also take a look from time to time, just in case that stupid ring of yours appears. And I thought that only the lord Melkor was interested in jewelry! What a bunch of effeminates...

Sauron smiled slightly, knowing that this time the insults of the Balrog were friendly (friendly in the rough sense that the word had for Balrogs, of course).

-Don't bother about it, the Ring won't appear here. But I have a vague idea of where to search it.

-As you like. - the Balrog lay on the ground again and curled, like a monstrous and ugly cat ready to sleep.

Sauron stood there not really knowing what to do next. His body kept flickering between the world of the visible and the invisible, and a cold stream made him shudder suddenly. The demon, realizing this, made a signal to him to come closer and lie with him, to which Sauron agreed.

-Better now, isn't it, Gorthaur? -he asked, placing his arm around him; the wraith nodded- You're not so proud anymore...

-I had to swallow my pride too many times to survive. At this point I just don't care. I only hope that Gothmog, wherever he is, cannot see me like this: in the arms of one of his Balrogs.

The aforementioned let out a guttural chuckle.

-Do you want some advice, Sauron? Don't return to the outside world. Forget it. Our time has passed, and the lord Melkor is no longer among us. Middle-earth is for Men, well, let them keep it! We can stay here, sleeping the sleep of the forgotten, until the last day when Arda breaks. Nothing matters, so it's better to rest and forget. And if some Dwarf dares to enter again, we'll roast him in a pit of lava and that's the end of story. What do you think? The two of us alone: the last soldiers of Angband.

And the Balrog squeezed him with camaraderie against his massive chest. Sauron thought he would suffocate, but on the other hand, the warmth was nice and well received by his disembodied spirit.

-I can't do that. I made a promise to Melkor, I promised to continue his legacy. And I have a plan, a vision that I have to develop and that Middle-earth needs urgently. -he began to explain, but only got snoring as response.

The Maia shrugged, and putting aside his qualms, he cuddled against the bulk of fire and surrendered to restorative sleep. After all, he had the right of some respite, a brief moment of tranquility and protection after centuries of hard work.

Thus ignored by the world, those two ancient and terrible creatures waited in the depths of the earth. But they did it tight against each other in the most innocent of embraces.  
Sometimes things acquired unusual appearances.  
And even though Sauron had never dreamed, certain images of distant times, almost of the beginning of times, came to his mind while he slept. It was curious how he barely remembered the events of the last age, while on the other hand those old scenes unfolded before him with such clarity.

He saw himself working in one of the underground caverns of Aulë, in a Middle-earth still shapeless and uncontrolled. The twinkles that came off the gems embedded in the rock, when the fire touched them, were the only light in a world plunged in darkness.  
Suddenly, a red glow had invaded the cavern, and Sauron came face to face with the rebellious Vala, that evil Melkor. He had only seen him during the Music, and still recalled the commotion that that he had caused. But now he was much changed with his new body. Sauron coughed annoyed; that Vala could bring him nothing but trouble.

-May I know what art thou doing here? I have a lot of work, just in case thou hast not noticed.

Melkor looked around and ran a hand through his hair, as if thinking about something. Then he addressed him with mocking gesture:

-You don't seem to be much impressed by me: Melkor, the Mighty Arising. Despite being just a little Maia.

-My name is Mairon. And yes, I'm impressed, although my face may not reveal it. Thou knowest, I spend a lot of time surrounded by rocks and some of their nature must have passed to me.

Melkor smiled upon noticing the sarcasm of his words, but right after his eyes filled with anxiety.

-Tulkas is not around, is he? He's a new Vala, I don't know where he came from, but he has it in for me. The other day I approached him with the proposal of joining me, and he hit me for no reason! Since then he pursues me all over with his hateful laugh. I don't know why he wants to beat me. What have I done to him!?

-I can think of a few reasons. -replied the Maia, too distracted by the visit to resume his work in the forge, as he would have liked.

Melkor rubbed his arms and took another look around to make sure that, indeed, Tulkas was not there. Sauron knew what were fear and pain because he had been very attentive while these themes were played in the Music. But he had never seen these expressions in one of the Ainur, and finding them in Melkor now was fascinating. He wondered what had the Vala felt while Tulkas beated him, and discovered that deep within his soul, he would have liked to be there to see it.  
Meanwhile, the Vala had begun to roam around the workshop of Aulë, nosing about everything and, to the horror of Sauron, fiddling with everything. It seemed as he left behind a trail of disorder, because everything he took, he left it in a different place or even threw it: instruments, precious stones, flasks and jars. Would it be such a nuisance to put them back in place?  
Sauron coughed again, this time very angry, and Melkor raised his eyes in surprise. The Maia looked at him frowning, with his hands on his hips.

-My lord Melkor the Mighty Arising, isn't enough to spread chaos out there in Arda, that thou hast to spread it also here, in my little haven of order?

Melkor blinked without understanding.

-I'm not messing up anything. I'm just leaving it... better. -and so saying he took the plan of the lamps that Aulë was designing and began to examine it.

-What's this? Why has nobody informed me of this project? The other Valar never tell me anything!

-It's a project of Aulë, and only him and his Maiar are concerned by it. Now, if thou wert so kind to return it...

-And Manwë knows about these lamps? Ye have surely told him! That stupid brother of mine.

-Yes, of course Manwë knows. He's the lord of all the Valar, after all.

-Not of all! –protested Melkor, biting his lip hurt, and threw the plan into the air.

Sauron managed to catch it in time, just before the scroll fell into a brazier full of red hot coals. He made sure that the plan had not suffered any damage, and carefully folding it, he placed it in a drawer.  
Now Melkor was looking at the polished gems that Sauron had spread on the table, sorted by size and quality. And before his astonished eyes, he grabbed a handful of the most beautiful and tucked them into his tunic. The Maia could't believe what he saw.

-What the... What art thou doing? Those stones are not yours!

-What do you mean they're not mine? I've found them.

-Yes, on my table!

-Your table, my table... what does it matter? You weren't looking at them now, what do you want them for?

Sauron clenched his fists in anger. This was intolerable; it wasn't thus how one should proceed, it wasn't thus how one should behave, how was "expected" that one should behave. The normal thing would have been that the Vala returned the gems at once and apologized, that's what any other Ainu would have done.  
But Sauron was beginning to understand that Melkor was not like the Ainur he knew. And in his impotence, he didn't dare to recover the stolen items. What could a Maia do against the most powerful being of Arda?  
Melkor noticed the restrained fury of his interlocutor, and to top it off, he dared to approach him and invade his personal space shamelessly. Leaning over his ear he whispered:

-Join me and you will have as many gems as you want, and even more beautiful things. What do you say, little one? Wouldn't you serve me rather than Aulë? I can give you much more than that granite head.

The Vala had caressed him then, and although the new feeling seemed nice, Sauron moved away from him with contempt. Melkor shrugged:

-No? Well, too bad for you. Stay here and keep being a small Maia in a small underground room. No one will ever remember you. Farewell, Morion, or whatever your name is. -and he disappeared in another burst of fire and light.

-My name is Mairon! -shouted still the Maia.

Filled with rage, he began to order all the things that Melkor had spread around. He could be very powerful, but that Vala was definitely the most annoying and irritating creature of all the creation. Sauron hated him.  
But on the other hand... On the other hand there was something irresistible and hypnotic in him, in that wild and ill-mannered being. Something he knew he wouldn't find in the others, as much as he seeked. And he was beautiful, of course. But not like Varda, who had chosen the most dazzling appearance that was possible after a careful study of the shapes and proportions. Melkor was beautiful without intending it, almost as if he couldn't avoid it. And he seemed to experience every moment of his existence with an intensity that neither he nor the gray and boring Aulë, nor any other, could even imagine.  
Much to his regret, Sauron discovered that he envied him.

These were the things that he dreamed in the undergrounds of Moria. But then the images started to fall apart, burst into flames as Orodruin, and again reappeared the feared object: the bright and naked Ring, terrible in its simplicity. And the golden metal filled him until becoming unbearable.  
Sauron stirred and awoke in distress.  
The chest of the Balrog still rose and fell amidst a peaceful breathing, and his heartbeat against his ear managed to calm him a little. Then he realized that his body had partially regenerated during all this time, and it had regained some of its physical qualities.  
How many years had he slept? Probably too many.  
He pushed the Balrog slightly to say farewell to him, but his slumber was very deep. In view of this, Sauron slipped through his arms to escape. The touch of the other body gave him some nice tingling between his legs; another quality regained. Although deprived of company, he guessed it would be a quality that would torment him more than comfort him.  
He finished coming out of the tight embrace, and the Balrog rolled over, occupying the empty space. He just let out a smoking snoring, and not even then he opened his eyes.

-Farewell, Durin's Bane. You're a huge lazy lump, but at least I hope you fulfill your role when you're needed.

After this Sauron abandoned Moria and flew cautiously towards Mirkwood. Several times he stopped in the thicket and extended his appendages, feeling the trunks of trees, the earth of the road and the streams, searching for signals. It didn't seem that the mysterious Maia who had broken into his fortress was still watching him.  
With recovered energy and strength, he returned to Dol Guldur. And for the next year he kept busy repopulating the Misty Mountains with his Orcs. The search continued in the Gladden Fields, but always equally fruitless. But from then onwards, it was carried out more discreetly, not knowing who might be watching, who could also covet his Ring, his precious.  
A handful of dragons made their appearance in the mountains of the East, but no matter how many emissaries he sent, none of them agreed to serve him. It seemed that they had all inherited the stubbornness of Glaurung. In any case, they were just lizards compared with the dragons of Angband. Only one of them, named Smaug, was roughly at the height of them, but he didn't want to know anything about Sauron, the Dark Lord, either. With a very short-sighted attitude, the creature preferred to wallow in the mountains of gold of the Dwarves, and sleep while the jewels dug into his flesh ever deeper.  
Sleep! Was that the only thing that the servants of Melkor could do in the Third Age? Sleep and wait for everything to fix itself alone? Such apathy, such indifference! What had become of honour and duty?

Not long after the appearance of Smaug, Sauron perceived a familiar distortion around the forest. It was a distortion of power similar to that of his Ring, but much more attenuated. Anxiety and desire seized him, and quickly he sent his servants in all directions: bats, great and repulsive spiders, Orcs and wraiths.  
The prize that they brought him to the fortress was a tired and ragged Dwarf, a strange bearer for the last of the Seven that was still missing. Almost in extasis, Sauron ripped the ring from his trembling hands, and his shadow grew a little more and turned blacker.  
The Dwarf fell on his knees before him and tore his beard with grief, he was a broken spirit. But despite all, he was still a Dwarven spirit, and even though Sauron threatened him, and though he tortured him sipping day by day part of his essence, until his skin turned translucent and his eyes dimmed, he couldn't extract any confession from him. He only found out that his name was Thráin and was a descendant of the kings of Moria, now in exile. But he didn't tell where he was going when he was captured, or where belonged the key around his neck.  
His mind was also closed, with more powerful bolts than those of their underground mines. And when Sauron tried to penetrate in it, he just got disconnected images of forges, chain mails, axes dripping blood, and the head of a Dwarf with eyes wide open in terror and the word "Azog" on it.

However, having found another of his rings was enough satisfaction already. Meanwhile he would keep the Dwarf in his dungeon, staggering between life and death, to entertain himself during the endless gray days of Dol Guldur.

Until the Maia that chased him appeared again.  
But this time Sauron didn't flee. He trusted his recovered strength, and swelling like a cloud of darkness and fear that pervaded the entire chamber, he went to the dungeons, from where the signals of the other Maia came. He would put an end to that intrusive Olórin once and for all.  
But he found the cell empty, except for the body of Thráin, which rested on the slabs with an expression of tranquility. The chest in which he had kept the prisoner's belongings had been opened with some powerful magic, and the mysterious key was gone, along with a simple map to which Sauron had never given importance.

The meaning of the key was revealed later, when news reached him about a great tumult under the mountain of Erebor.  
A bunch of homeless Dwarves had broken into the lair of Smaug to oust him. And thereafter all the birds of prey from the surrounding lands had begun to crowd there, to fight over the spoils of the dragon.  
The mountains of gold had small interest for Sauron, especially because he knew that the only golden piece that he wanted wasn't there. But that didn't mean that he couldn't take advantage of the events.  
There was a being who escaped before the battle towards Mirkwood, a disoriented and flickering ghost, as he had been in the past. And he went to seek refuge in the fortress of Dol Guldur.  
Sauron greeted him with a laugh that shook him to the very core.

-What happened, Smaug? Your gemstone shield wasn't hard enough?

-It was, my lord Sauron. But I'm afraid it wasn't complete enough. -answered the remains of the dragon, shrinking humbly.

-You call me now "Lord Sauron". However, when I sent for you to serve me, you answered that you weren't the slave of any Necromancer. Well Smaug, I've grown up in the meantime, to the extent that this fortress is becoming too narrow for me. You, however, have become much smaller. What do you want then?

The wraith coiled before him, and with a supplicant cry said:

-I only beg thee, my lord Sauron, that thou dost something for me. Thou hast power over the world of the living and of the dead: re-house me in a new body, in that of a wolf, or a bat, or even a Barrow-wight. Then I will serve thee as the most faithful and the fiercest of thy creatures. Please, any existence is preferable to this.

An extension of malice surrounded the ghost, and from its many extremes came a deep and chilling laughter.

-Yes, Smaug, I have a body to re-house you, a body that you would serve fine. Mine.

In that moment, the amorphous wave that enveloped the dragon became more solid, more consistent, and began to crush him as a huge snake, more and more, until nullifying the wraith. The last thing this saw was a black mouth opening over him, and in the midst, an eye in flames that swallowed him.  
Thus disappeared the last dragon of fire.  
And his power was all Sauron needed to recompose himself completely. It was time to return to Mordor.  
And just at the right time, because shortly thereafter Olórin assaulted Dol Guldur, and in this occasion he came with reinforcements.  
There were some old acquaintances from the Second Age, as Galadriel and Elrond, and also a strange Elf with a beard and another powerful Maia that he didn't recognize then. He looked like an old man dressed in white, and while fleeing from the fortress he had time to extend one of his appendages over him and read a bit of his soul.

-You covet my Ring, don't you? You think you can become greater than me. Well, try it. But you'll only end up becoming my pawn. -he whispered. And the Maia didn't answer. Sauron turned his thoughts to Galadriel right after:- And you, my old friend? Have you thought about what you would do with my Ring if it fell in your hands? I sense that your heart starts to falter. Galadriel, the bright queen of Middle-earth. Don't deny that you have dreamed about it.

The Elven lady screamed and pressed her temples, resisting the voice that had invaded her head. Alerted, Sauron shrunk and fled at full speed toward the South, before it was too late.

Barad-dûr awaited him, or what was left of the tower: his home, his cold home, his prison in ruins. Locked in one of the underground chambers that had survived the disaster, Sauron finally recovered his physical and complete form, not without prolonged efforts and suffering.  
But when he looked himself in a mirror, he discovered that it wasn't the shape he had wanted. It was a too horrible shape to be contemplated or described, although it was a true reflection of how he felt inside. He decided to cover his head with an iron helmet that completely concealed it, except for the eye. And he covered also his entire body with armor. It was then when he discovered that he was missing a finger on his left hand, and wrath filled him. The same wrath that, perhaps, had felt other Ainu that he once knew well, upon seeing the burn on his right hand.  
Well, no one should see him anymore, but he would make sure to see it all. Instead of his presence, he would impose on every one of his servants the constant surveillance of that eye of fire that had terrified them so much in the past. It would appear on banners, on shields, on helmets, in their minds and even in their nightmares. Until they became connected to him as the puppets of his will, as his thousand appendages. He would be the Great Eye that saw everything and controlled everything. Nobody ever would pronounce his name again, the name that he had in Angband and with which his Lord had called him. Those creatures were not worthy of pronouncing it, since they had failed him. He had a beautiful vision of peace and order, and what had they done? Destroy that vision, that perfect plan, with their selfish individualism. There was no vision anymore, it was starting to blur, the Ring was blurring it. Where had he failed? When exactly had appeared the fissure?

From every corner of Middle-earth, the shadows came then to him, to the pinnacle that rose again, stone upon stone and spire upon spire, amid the barren plains of Mordor. Swarms of Orcs, underground and forgotten creatures, the Nine Ringwraiths. And also some men riding wains from the East, and tall dark men from the South, and men wild as bears from the North.  
But from the West only one man came.  
He rode on a huge black horse, and his face was also hidden behind a peculiar helmet. The footsteps of the beast echoed in the deserted land, raising clouds of dust, and then it slowed down its pace to a halt. The man dismounted and stood before the tower, alone, waiting for the Dark Lord to notice him.

-Who are you, mortal, that so boldly stop at my door without company? -said the voice.

\- I have come to serve thee, master, as I did in the past. In already distant ages. -he answered, bowing to him.

-I don't know you.

-Maybe thou hast forgotten me, master. But I still remember thee, and my body also remembers thee.

And saying this, the man turned around, pulled the tunic down his shoulders, and showed him his naked back.  
Sauron ran his eye through every swollen line, every crossed scar ripping that skin, and something in the depths of his memory stirred. He may forget a face, but the Maia never forgot the geometric patterns left by his whip in the flesh of others.  
A series of incoherent memories seized him, and complex feelings that he no longer understood, or upon which he no longer wanted to dwell.

-Yes, I know who you are. You were once my Shadow. Where have you hidden yourself all these years, coward? Why didn't you come earlier to serve me?

The man trembled under the eye in flames that flickered in his mind for a moment, and fell to his knees before him, spreading his arms in supplication:

-Thou commandedst me to hide until the day thou neededst me again, master. I have felt thy call in my heart, and I'm back. The past centuries haven't been easy for me. I have lived in many places and I have had many names, always hiding my nature. I have been in cages and in palaces, I have been an animal and a lord. Lately I was known as the Black Númenórean, and I have amassed a large fortune trafficking with narcotic herbs and with those of my own race: the most beautiful women and the most pleasurable boys. I possess numerous men at my service and countless riches, but I've abandoned them all to serve thee. Because even if I've had many owners, I've only had a single master. -and the man bowed his head submissively, and allowed the Eye to penetrate his soul without putting up any resistance, since he had nothing to hide.

Sauron perceived in him an unusual sincerity, devotion, and a love that he hadn't awaken in anybody since long time ago. The exploration left him satisfied.

-I see that you speak the truth, man. Well, I don't need a Shadow now, because the one I project on Middle-earth is very large. But I could use a lieutenant and a spokesperson to bring my messages where my voice doesn't reach. You will be my mouth then, the Mouth of Sauron.

The Eye pulled away from the man then, making him shudder, and the gates of Barad-dûr opened before him with a mournful creak. Soon after, a couple of Orcs met him, and while one brought his horse to the stables, the other led him inside. It was curious how quickly his master had given them instructions, almost as if his wishes were directly transmitted to their head. Looking sideways at the Orc that guided him, he found that his eyes were glassy and absent. Maybe the will of his master had them enslaved like that, maybe he could control them as hollow shells.  
The guide led him through narrow and bare galleries, which spiraled up to the upper floors. Everything was vertical and sober in there; they hadn't made the slightest concession to superfluous adornment. And unlike Angband, that always boiled with frenetic activity, an eerie silence reigned in Barad-dûr. As they climbed up the cold increased, and when the Orc stopped in front of the double doors of what would be his bedchamber, the man was almost shivering.

-This was formerly the bedroom of a Númenórean lord who visited us often. -explained the Orc, opening the door and showing him the interior.- The lord still comes here often, but he never sleeps.

The ironic smirk of the Orc made him a little nervous, and the man looked around his new room. The bed was spacious and seemed comfortable, and at least the walls and floors were covered with rugs and tapestries. But the dust of centuries accumulated on the furniture, and the cold was unbearable. Having suffered under the open sky for so long, naked and caged, during the darkest years of the Third Age, the man had promised himself that he would never be cold again. Angband had always been heated, even too much, and in Harad and later Umbar he had enjoyed a mild and pleasant climate as well.  
He had left behind many comforts and luxuries to return to his master, and was willing to suffer all kinds of hardship for him. But he didn't need to be cold.

-Bring a few Orcs to clean this room thoroughly, and light a good fire in the hearth. I can't sleep here in such conditions. -he ordered.

-Of course, lord lieutenant.

The Orc turned around and returned to the lower floors.

"Lord lieutenant". The man smiled to himself. Many things had happened to him before earning that title, but in the end he had accomplished it, and now the idea brought him a mixture of joy, satisfaction, fear and anxiety. He ran a finger over the surface of a dusty sideboard, leaving behind a shiny line. So many years... So many years separated from his master. Would he find him much changed?  
He certainly had not changed. He never changed, that was his fate.

Eager to reunite with the Maia, he decided to go to see him wherever he was in the tower, while the Orcs tidied the alcove. Judging by the looks of it, Sauron was at the top pinnacle, so he patiently began the ascent through the corridors, always inclined upwards and always in spiral.  
However, when he had almost reached the uppermost level, he stumbled upon a heavy metal door blocking the way, and two black and huge Orcs standing guard in front. He had never seen Orcs like those.

-Open the door. I'm the new lieutenant of Barad-dûr and need to speak with the Lord.

-The Great Eye receives none, except the Witch-king. –replied the Orc in a monotone, not impressed at all by his elevated position.

-Nonsense! He will receive me. –and the man made as if to approach the door. But the guards crossed their spears before him.

-Don't take it personally, lieutenant. But it's dangerous to cross this door, and no mortal must do it. Behind it there are five other doors, as well, and only the Great Eye and the Witch-king have the keys. -and in confident tone, the Orc said:- After his return to Mordor, the Dark Lord's power became... unstable. It's very dangerous to approach him, they say that those who dare to look at him turn mad.

The Mouth of Sauron lowered his arms, dejected.  
So close and yet so far from his master. After so many centuries awaiting the reunion with him, he couldn't believe that fate had that cruel joke in store for him.

-But then, how will I receive his instructions and follow the orders? -he murmured.

-When He has a mission for thee, He will let thee know.

The man looked at the eyes of the guards; they were whitish and seemed to look in the distance. He got the impression that everyone behaved as a sleepwalker in that tower, and it was starting to be sinister.

Crestfallen, he had no choice but to retrace his steps, with no company but the echo of his boots through the soulless corridors.  
Then, upon turning a corner, he felt an icy stab in the back, and an irrational panic that numbed his members. The torchlight decreased considerably, and when he turned around, he came face to face with nine tall black figures, motionless in the gloom. Although they had no faces, he could feel their eyes digging into his chest, and the man stepped back instinctively.

-Who are you? -asked a horrible voice, which came directly from the helmet of the shadow in front.

The Mouth of Sauron gulped a couple of times, and tried to hide the fear that seized him and the trembling of his legs. So these were the famous Ringwraiths and their leader, the Witch-king. He had heard many stories about them and the terror that inspired, but reality surpassed legends.

-I am the lieutenant of the Dark Lord. -answered at last, gathering courage.

The wraiths hissed, little pleased by the answer.

-Maggot! How is it possible that a pathetic mortal like you, an upstart that nobody has heard about before, is appointed by the Great Eye as lieutenant just upon arrival? –scoffed the Witch-king.

These insulting words were enough to light up the anger of the man and make him forget his fear.

-Upstart!? How do you dare to call me upstart!? I'm as old as mankind, I've been with the Lord since the beginning! I have seen the fire pits of Angband and the burning eyes of Melkor. I have seen dragons swooping from above, and the whips of the Balrogs tearing the air. I was there when Gondolin fell and when Beleriand sank. And ye call me upstart? Haven't ye hear my name perchance, don't ye know that I'm part of him? I am the Mouth of Sauron!

At that moment the Ringwraiths writhed screaming, and put their gloves on their heads, as if to cover their invisible ears.

-Fool, don't say that name! That name is forbidden.

-Not to me. I can call the master so, because so I have called him a thousand times in the past. –replied the man, straightening proud upon seeing the effect that his words had on the wraiths.- Ye ought to know that I'm special to him. He appreciates me, and loves me.

At this the Ringwraiths laughed bitterly:

-The Great Eye doesn't love anyone. He is pure hatred.

-That's not true!... At least, it was not always so. –muttered the man, looking away sadly.

The Witch-king let out another harsh laugh, and his shadow grew to cover his head.

-If the Lord appreciates you so much, why hasn't he given you any of his rings?

-Precisely because he loves me he didn't do it! Look what those rings have done with you. They have turned you into pitiful ghosts without body or soul.

This time the boldness of the man had gone too far, and before he could react, he found a sword of Morgul pressed against his throat. The cold, again the obnoxious cold, went down his spine and crushed his heart as an ice claw.

-Measure your words, mortal, or the next thing that will come out your throat will be your filthy black blood.

The Mouth of Sauron tried to step away, but his back hit the wall. However, the wraith immediately withdrew the sword from his neck, as if he had just received orders to leave him alone.

-You're lucky, maggot. -he hissed.- But this is not the last time we meet.

And after this, the Witch-king uttered some kind of curse in an unknown tongue, turned around, and disappeared into the shadows followed by the other wraiths.  
The man exhaled, relieved, and put his hand to his throat, where he still felt the ghostly touch of the blade.  
He had just arrived in the tower and already had enemies. But another thing that he had promised to himself was that he would never let others humiliate him. Long was gone the trembling creature of the First Age, always fleeing and begging. In those days, surrounded as he was by a Vala, and Balrogs, and dragons, everyone had considered him very small and insignificant. But with the coming of the reign of Men, and the disappearance of the great creatures of the past, he had realized that he was actually not so small. In fact, he found that he was taller than most of those of his race. And of course, if he had survived an attack by the Valar, he could survive nine human ghosts.  
Because they were human, after all.  
And yet... in some strange way, they were not. He had noticed something odd about them, something that he had never felt in any creature before, no matter how evil. It was as if those beings didn't belong entirely to Eä, as if their existence violated some fundamental law of nature. Yes, they were unnatural creatures, created by some perverse and refined science. And it was his master who had done that. But he couldn't approve it. All this exuded an air too... wrong.

The Mouth of Sauron heard his guts roar, and then he realized how hungry he was. The journey from Umbar had been long and grueling, and he hadn't eaten properly in days. He looked out a small window to make sure if it was already dinner time, but the dim light of that land looked always the same. Anyway, he didn't lose anything going to the kitchens and trying his luck.  
As he descended into the underground he began to feel better. It was warmer there, and the busy soldiers coming and going made him forget the gloomy upper hallways, and the meeting with the nine wraiths.  
Upon entering the dining room of the troops and breathing again the smell of half-boiled slop on which the Orcs fed, a curious nostalgia came over him. Suddenly he was in a good mood, suddenly he was again at home.  
He sat discreetly on a wooden bench and ordered a plate of food, without disclosing his status to anyone. The greyish paste that they served him had an abominable smell and worse taste, but he ate it nonetheless. It was going to take him a while to get used to that after the delicacies he enjoyed in Umbar, but for serving the master it was worthwhile.  
Before long, he attracted the attention of the Orcs that swarmed through the dining room, despite his desire to go unnoticed, and through the corner of his eye he saw a couple of them, unusually stocky, pointing at him. There was an argument between the two, and the larger one ended up knocking the other, who walked away bleeding through his nose. After that, the victorious Orc dropped onto the bench next to him, with such force that made him bounce on the seat.

-How is it that I haven't seen you here before? – he snarled, letting out a puff of stale breath.

-I'm new.

-Yes, I can see that... -he remained silent for some seconds, staring at the man that ate with total indifference, and added:- You know what? You're the prettiest Orc I've ever seen.

The Mouth of Sauron knew what was coming next.  
Indeed, the huge Orc put his hand on his thigh and started to rub it up and down, in a clumsy attempt to arouse him.

-Come with me to that corner there and I'll ride you like no one has ever ridden you. You won't have a single drop of seed when I'm finished with you. -and the creature ventured with his hand still a little higher.

The man looked at him incredulously through the sockets of his helmet, and smirked.

-It's a tempting offer, of course. But now I don't feel like doing it, let alone in public.

The Orc slammed on the table with his fist, outraged.

-Listen, lovely, I 'm not one of those filthy snaga that you can push aside! I'm a black uruk, and you should know that in this cantina I'm the boss. So if you want that I protect you, you better get on all fours now. Otherwise, I don't take responsibility for what the others may do you.

-I don't know what's a snaga, nor what's an uruk, frankly. -replied the Mouth of Sauron, turning his attention to the almost empty bowl.- But you might like to know that if I'm the prettiest Orc you've ever seen, it's because I'm not an Orc, but a man. Moreover, I'm the new lieutenant of Barad-dûr, of whom you've probably heard some rumour already. And the crotch you're touching, it's the crotch of the new lieutenant of Barad-dûr. Besides, don't take me wrong, but in the times of Angband I needed at least two of you to get satisfied.

The Orc's jaw couldn't have been left more open. Nonetheless, it still took him a couple of seconds to react and remove his hand from the intimate parts of his lord. The next moment, it was the creature who was on all fours, apologizing loudly and begging for mercy with his nose to the ground. The whole room broke into laughter, and the Mouth of Sauron enjoyed the scene for a few minutes, before raising his hand for silence. He decided to turn a blind eye to the incident and dispatched the Orc with a simple warning.  
The wretch bowed to him among stutterings of gratitude and then left the room at full speed, his position of dominant male lost forever.  
So strict was the hierarchy of Orcs, but it worked.  
Once his rank was discovered publicly, the other diners took a much more deferential attitude toward the man. Then they brought him a jug of beer, and the cooks began to roast a piece of real meat for him. That was better, he thought. Though on the other hand, it had been fun posing as one of the bunch for a while, just like in old times.

Only when the night and the moment of going to bed came, his mood darkened, though not for anything in particular. Since long ago the moment of sleeping was associated with a vague, dark terror in his mind. It had been so for a hundred years, and he suspected that he would never get rid of that fear, not even if he lived another three ages more. With a sigh, he undressed and got in his new bed for the first time. The smell of the room was strange, as though the fire had been burning for hours, the cold was still considerable. Although maybe it was a cold that came directly from his insides, not from the room.  
He hesitated a few seconds before putting out the oil lamp; the prospect of being left in complete darkness disturbed him deeply, but he didn't want to get intoxicated with the smoke. Thus, he plucked up courage and blew out the flame.  
Then, upon closing his eyes, he saw it again in a terrible and blinding flash: the Eye of his master, flickering inside and outside of his mind as an illusion. But his presence was as real as if he was there in the flesh. The man shrunk with a moan, tormented by a flame that chilled his entrails rather than warm them.

-You are afraid of the dark. -said the voice.- How is that possible in a servant of the Dark Lord?

-It's a long story, master, and painful to tell.

-Tell it to me! -demanded the voice, and the presence of the Eye seemed to extend until filling his whole body.

The Mouth of Sauron couldn't tell if it was a hateful or pleasant feeling.

-Please, master, don't force me. I don't want to talk about it.

-I can see your soul if I desire so, didn't you know? I can force you open and extract any secret that you keep in your heart. But I expected not to resort to violence with you. I hoped that you cooperated in good faith, as always you did in the past, isn't it?

The man nodded, defeated, and stopped resisting the advances of his master.  
He didn't want to tell him his story with words, but at least he would let him see it in pictures. He opened his mind to him, and he felt the Eye penetrating his memories. In the dark room he only listened to his heartbeat and rapid breathing, but he knew he was still there. So close, yet so far. As he was explored, some fragments of his master also filtered into him, and saw images of fire and gold, and a haunting image that repeated itself endlessly, bright and perfectly circular.

-Now I understand everything. -said the voice upon finishing, in a softer tone, almost as if caressing him.- My little servant... There was a time when I missed you, but I hardly remember now. Tell me about the past, tell me about Angband and Melkor.

A rare serenity pervaded the man then, and he began to speak to his master of things that he had known well, even if they had been erased from his memory. Important things and anecdotal things, and maybe also things that had never happened, other but in his imagination, but that the passing of centuries had turned real. Sauron listened to his servant, still connected but no longer dominating him. Until the man calmed down more and more, and finally fell asleep with an unfinished sentence in his lips.

The next morning started for the new lieutenant the tough task of organizing work in the tower. There were still many damaged areas in the structure, especially in the outer fortifications, and most of his time was spent in this during the following months.  
Fortunately, the Mouth of Sauron had learned much from his master in Angband, and didn't find too many problems during the constructions. Moreover, his initial fear of stumbling again on the Ringwraith soon dissipated, since the Witch-king returned to Minas Morgul with five of them, while three others were sent to Mirkwood.  
Everything seemed very quiet in Mordor.  
Despite the open declaration that the Dark Lord had returned to Barad-dûr, there was no attempt to start a war against the kingdoms around. Rearmament wasn't started up nor new machines were built, nor the number of soldiers increased. To some unexperienced observer it would have been easy to believe that Mordor had given up on conquest, and now only aspired to live in peace with its neighbours, and get enough food from its barren land to support the population of Orcs. But those who knew well Sauron, knew that his Eye never closed, never slept. And he was just waiting for a clue, a small fortuitous signal, to extend the four fingers of his left hand and claim what was his, with blood and fire and war.  
The burst of Orodruin was the unequivocal sign that peace was only a mirage.

And although Sauron never left the pinnacle, he wasn't alone up there. The palantír that the Witch-king had brought from Minas Morgul gave him an open window to nearly every corner of the world that was reasonably close, and the company of other onlookers, surprised while trying to join the game.  
The first to appear was the steward of Gondor, an anxious and untrustful man. He wanted to learn too many things, and in his eagerness to see, he finally saw distortions of the reality, as someone who ruins his sight by trying to read too many texts from too close.  
But he was a stubborn man, and time after time he rejected Sauron's attempts to contact him. His will always closed to his tries, and he turned him his back.  
With the other one he was more fortunate, for he was sufficiently corrupted when he dared to peek into the palantír.

-Curumo! Long time no see each other. -greeted him Sauron with sarcasm.- The first time we met I didn't recognize you. You look older now, which is a rare quality in a Maia...

The old man with long hair and white beard started at the other side of the palantír upon hearing that sinister voice. But then he tried to hide his surprise frowning with disdain.

-You should know, Sauron, that no one here calls me Curumo. Curunír, in any case, and especially Saruman.

-You never did justice to any of those names, old friend. –mocked him Sauron.

Seeing his old mate from Aulë's days reddening with anger, was always a pleasant entertainment.

-I, for my part, cannot say the same about you and your name, Sauron the Abhorred! -he snapped, spitting every word as if it was poison.

Despite his new appearance, he hadn't changed in the slightest. That Maia had always been insufferably arrogant, irascible and vain. From the first day he had envied Sauron and had done everything possible to surpass him in the eyes of Aulë, but always to no avail. It was his way of concealing the terrible inferiority complex he felt in front of those who were more skilled and wiser than him: humiliate and challenge them. Though of course, he lost most of the time, which increased even more his complex and bitterness. That was his fate, playing a game that he could only lose, and Sauron suspected it would be a fun game.

-Tell me, Saruman, what are you doing looking through that stone? Are you seeking something in particular?

-The same as you, I'm afraid.

-And perhaps you hope to find it? Don't you know that the Ring and I are the same thing? That it searchs for me as I search for it, and that the reunion is inevitable? The Ring is only loyal to its true master.

Saruman grimaced and snorted, as if he had heard something incredibly ignorant.

-Maybe the Ring was loyal to you once, Sauron, but what use can you give it now? Do not think that you're talking to one of the stupid Orcs and men that serve you. I am one of the Wise, the wisest of all, indeed! And I have access to the circles of the powerful and kings. I've been to Gondor numerous times and have thoroughly studied their books. I have unraveled the science of the rings of power without aybody's help. Thus I know what happened to you after the fall of Númenor. Before the cataclysm the Ring served you, effectively, to increase your powers and make you virtually invincible. But after that you were left so pitifully reduced, that the only thing it was useful for, was keeping you anchored to this world. Proof of this is that the mere loss of a finger was enough to rip you from your body for centuries. Not that you look much better now. You're but half of a Maia, and with the Ring, maybe, you'll be almost a whole Maia. But why waste so poorly such an amazing object? In my hands, the Ring can give me the power of the Valar themselves. In yours, it may help you to fix that ruin that you call face, and that with luck.

A flash of fire then broke out in the face of Saruman through the palantír, and the wizard retreated a couple of steps, intimidated, much to his chagrin, by the wrathful eye in flames that filled the entire image.

-Are you threatening me, Sauron!? –he yelled indignantly, with a somehow more high-pitched voice than he would have liked.- Don't think that I don't have means to defend myself. It's been a long time since I turned Isengard into my personal fortress, and I have powerful armies of men and Orcs at my disposal. My Uruk-hai also are unbeatable. Better than any of your starving Orcs of Mordor, strong and intelligent. And they can stand the sunlight.

"Perfect. Now the stupid is revealing important strategic information, just to show off in front of me". –said Sauron to himself, closing his thoughts against the palantír's surveillance.

There was a better way of dealing with egocentric fools as Saruman, and this was playing the fool oneself. Much more beneficial than threats, much more efficient than open war against him, was leaving him freedom of movement. Allowing him to find the Ring in good faith, even helping him against his enemies. In his pride, Saruman would think that could beat him at his own game, he would believe that he was working for his own interests when in fact he worked for the interests of other. He would convince himself that he could really dominate the Ring, but it would be the Ring the one who would dominate him, and the Ring was Sauron. As always, since the immemorial days when both served Aulë, Curumo would bet too high in a game that he could only lose, but throughout the game he would say to himself that he was winning.

\- I don't intend to threaten you, Saruman. -he said in a calm tone, almost friendly.- And I regret that this conversation has drifted towards those extremes. I don't see how we can benefit from such mutual antipathy. At the end of the day, we both want the same thing: finding the Ring. And both want to avoid the same thing: that it's found by the Dúnedain, or the Elves, or perhaps that companion of yours... Olórin, isn't he? – the visage of the wizard turned stren and tight at the name. "Oh! There he had another weakness".- Why don't we join forces, then? I will succour you with troops whenever you need it, and won't hinder your search for the Ring. Moreover, I will put the means to find it. There is much power contained in it for both, and I think that, in the end, we'll be able to reach an agreement that satisfies us both. You, on your side, will recognize me as your lord, as the only Dark Lord of Middle-earth. What do you think?

Saruman narrowed his malicious black eyes and stroked his beard in thought. Sauron knew what was going through his mind then. The wizard wondered if that friendly offer was due to his opponent's fear, realizing that his troops were at a disadvantage. Or if it was an attempt to get closer to the secret of his new Uruk-hai warriors. Or even, if he intended to use him as a tool to retrieve the Ring and then push him aside.  
But what never crossed the mind of Saruman, was the possibility of not being able to get away with it at the end. He didn't thought that, maybe, Sauron wouldn't be deceived by his cunning and treacherous stratagems. He didn't thought that the other could be even more cunning and treacherous than he. Because he was Saruman the White, the wisest Maia in Middle-earth. And he hardly remembered the days of Valinor, when that same opponent had overcome him so many times. His disproportionate pride had turned him unwary. And stupid.  
A hypocritical smile touched the lips of the old man:

-Fine then, my Dark Lord. Let's make that deal.

Fortunately for Sauron, not all his allies were as twisted as Saruman, nor as indifferent as Durin's Bane.  
There was a being who had always been very helpful to him, and had never caused problems, since the day it came crawling through the tunnels of the Mountains of Shadow.  
Shelob was the most repulsive and bloated of all the descendants of Ungoliant and Sauron took care of bloating her further along all those years. What better way to get rid of the excess of dead bodies?  
To his lieutenant, however, it wasn't a pleasant task having to visit occasionally that den of filth, to make sure that the spider was fine. That should be the task of the Orcs, not of someone of his category. And indeed, at first it was. But the Orcs who were sent to her lair rarely returned. The spider, however, seemed to feel a sort of aversion towards him and never attacked him, the reason why the thankless task had fallen on his head.

The Mouth of Sauron coughed a couple of times, while he waited in front of Barad-dûr for the Orcs that brought the monster's food. He looked at the palm of his hand; he was coughing up blood again. During the nearly seventy years he had been at the forefront of the tower, he hadn't stopped progressing, and his robes were more luxurious each time, and his jewels more dazzling. But in parallel to this, his health had declined at the same rate, and he suspected that, whatever was the spell that Melkor had put on him, its power was weakening.  
After all, he was still a mortal, and even for him would come the fateful hour some day.  
He looked up at the sky, that as always was covered by a stinking cloud of smoke and ash. Not that the weather of Mordor was good for his cough, of course.  
But he wasn't just suffering a decline of the body, he also began to feel exhausted mentally. The continued presence of the Eye on him, transmitting tortuous thoughts, watching even the most intimate of his fantasies, was grueling. And there was also the weight of memory. The mind of Men wasn't created to bear the memories of several millennia, and there were times when the Mouth of Sauron truly wanted to die and end it all.  
The memories were crushing him.  
He looked back, way back at the beginning of the Second Age.  
After the war he had listened to his master and tried to mingle with the Edain, pretending to be a prisoner from the pits of Angband. Those men treated him relatively well, albeit with some condescension, and the Mouth of Sauron felt no sympathy for them. Rumours ran like wildfire, and when he heard about the grim end of Melkor, his heart sank. The Edain were guilty of having separated him from his master.  
On the other hand, he hadn't to suffer their company for too long, because when the island of Númenor was raised in the sea for them, it was made clear that there were two kinds of Men: the privileged Edain, and the rest. Thus, when the last ship sailed to the new land, he was left alone on the coast.  
There was nothing for him in the West. He decided, therefore, to turn his back to the sea, and journey to the distant East, to its very ends if needed. Maybe there he would find his master. For countless centuries he roamed the earth as the loneliest of creatures, halting occasionally in fertile places where he could establish himself for a while, or living among the most strange peoples of the steppes and forests. He had often heard his master speaking about the chaining of Melkor, about how his loneliness and suffering during those three ages (that were like 3000 years of Men) had been unimaginable. But the Mouth of Sauron was also alone for nearly 3000 years, and probably more alone than Melkor in his cell. Yet he continued toward the East, always to the place where the Sun was born, as if some primitive and unconscious force dragged him over there.

And one day, not knowing how, he reached Hildórien. At the beginning of everything.  
The landscape hadn't changed despite the millennia that had run on the earth. There was the hill from which Melkor had spoken to them, where he had chosen him. But the people who had lived there, his family, were nothing but the dust of centuries, like his memory of them.  
He fell to his knees, thrust his hands into the grass, and wept for a long time on the land that witnessed his birth. They were tears of sadness, but also of joy, of a strange joy that was sad in part and comforting in part.  
He didn't stay long there, he couldn't have endured it. And looking towards the East Sea, towards the Sun that stood on the eastern end of the world, he said to himself that he could well keep going, since he had come so far already.  
He had to work long and hard to build a raft that stayed afloat. But once he had it, he set to sail without hesitation. He navigated through warm and calm seas, of turquoise waters, inhabited by the rarest fishes: with spikes, with fluorescent lights and electrical thorns. Always following the Sun. He wanted to see the star rising from its own cradle, just as this once saw his race awakening in the world.  
At the end of the sea, he came to a narrow strip of land, warm and crossed by a long chain of mountains. And climbed to the top of a hill, from where he could contemplate a quiet beach, the last beach of the confines, and a dark, empty sea.  
Thus was how the change of the world surprised the man: perched on the walls of the Sun and waiting for the dawn. Suddenly the vault of heaven had begun to move quickly, and the stars that were still visible plunged on the horizon. And then when it was all over, the man discovered that it was dead of night again, and that this day there would be no dawn.  
He had traveled so long to find the doors of the morning and the depths from which emerged the big star... and now he found out that he was back in the West, just on the other end (if one could still talk of ends). He'd never see the Sun being born, because now everything was curved, and no matter how much one walked, the horizon was always equally far. Besides, his raft had been destroyed by the cataclysm, and that land had no trees to build a new one.  
Then he mourned bitterly, believing he was trapped in that uninhabited land, and surely doomed to die of starvation.  
But later he discovered he wasn't alone. Other men also lived there, though they shunned him, and threatened him with their spears from afar every time he tried to approach them. They were very short in stature, with dark skin tanned by the Sun, so they were suspicious of that stranger so tall and pale, who didn't look like any of the beings to which they were accustomed. However, they took pity on him, and whenever they made bonfires to roast meat, they left a piece for him on purpose, so he could pick it up once they had gone away. And sometimes, a heap of fruit or some fish mysteriously appeared in front of the cave where he lived.  
The Mouth of Sauron still had his bone helmet, and most of his jewels, the only tokens he had of his master. But his clothes turned into tatters, and eventually disappeared altogether. That's why the day he ran into a new robe, woven with some sort of vegetable fibers, he couldn't but smile, touched.  
He always kept a warm memory of those shy men, even though he never managed to cross a word with them. He spent many years lost there, but one morning he glimpsed red sails on the horizon, and some sailors who spoke a familiar language offered to take him back to Middle-earth in their ship.

That way he arrived at Umbar and began a sweeter phase in his life. The inhabitants of the city called themselves the Black Númenóreans, and to his pleasant surprise, they were worshipers of Melkor and revered his master, so he felt right at home among them. He dared not to reveal his origin and his close bond with Sauron, since they wouldn't have believed him, but anyway he was treated well. Through them he learned of the great things that his master had done during the Second Age, which he, unfortunately, had missed in his wanderings. But the news of the fall of Sauron deeply saddened him, and he only found comfort and hope in the temple of Melkor that stood in the middle of the city.  
It was there where he met the person who would become his best friend in Umbar: the daughter of a local noble, the dark Berúthiel. Many took her for a witch because of her melancholy and the ten cats, nine black and one white, who followed her everywhere. But they got along together right away, sensing that deep inside they resembled each other closely.

"How I hate these cats, always chasing me!" – had she said one day – "There's only one that I like, a very white one, but dressed in black".

And she had kissed him on the cheek.

He had loved her. Not in the same way that he had loved his master Sauron, of course, but in some way difficult to explain. Although he never dared to tell her, because she was too beautiful.  
Anyway Berúthiel must have known, she knew everything, because her cats told her secrets.  
He was happy by her side. Until one day, an arrogant king of Gondor came to the city and took her away to make her his wife. The ten cats went after her, but he was left behind, very sad. At first Berúthiel wrote to him occasionally, and her bitterness, and her hatred for everything around her in Gondor was evident in her letters, although she tried to hide it. But later he stopped hearing from her.  
And one night he saw a ship with black sails passing before the port of Umbar. The silhouette of a cat could be distinguished under the light of the Moon, upright on the prow. Then he knew it was the last time he saw his friend.  
After this his days grew dark, and when Gondor attacked and conquered Umbar in the year 933 of the Third Age, he decided to leave the city. He lived in many places under many names, disappearing when his longevity began to be suspicious, and reappearing much later when no one could remember him.  
His master seemed to have vanished from Middle-earth, and as time went on his anxiety grew and his hope diminished. Finally, the year 2850, he decided to return to Umbar for possible news about Sauron, seeing that Mordor was still desolate.  
It was a grave error. He found out that the government of the corsairs, that had arrived centuries ago from Gondor, had been replaced by that of the Haradrim. These men didn't speak any language he knew, and they were pirates much more cruel than the previous corsairs. He was captured as a slave, they did horrible things to him, and ended up selling him to some traffickers, who were attracted by his unusual appearance.  
These men were dedicated to capturing and caging the strangest creatures from every corner of the world, and then they exhibited them in the cities of far Harad, where no one had seen them before. They had a troll, a small dragon, a tree that moved, a monster with tentacles inside a water tank, a bear, and now his new acquisition, the "Orc-man" or the "white demon" as they called him.  
Thus began the saddest years of his life.  
They put him in a cage like an animal, completely naked, and they took away all his belongings, his jewels, even his helmet. People paid many silver coins to see him and the other frights, and yet his owners fed him poorly and treated him worse. He didn't understand why they hated him so much, if he had never done anything to them. They probably hated him because they were afraid of him.  
And at night it was even more terrible. He had to sleep curled up on himself to not die of cold in the open, and when he heard the approaching footsteps of his owners and their drunken laughter, fear paralyzed his heart, knowing that they came to torment him, and each time in a different and unpredictable way.  
Since then, he was always afraid of the night and darkness.  
Later his situation improved, when an Orc was locked in his same cage, and at least he had a partner. At first the Orc wanted to eat him, until he realized that if he did, the owners would beat him to death. After that, his attitude was more friendly. And one night when his teeth kept chattering of cold, not letting the Orc sleep, the creature had approached him groaning and had put his arm over him to stop it. He had offered himself then, and the Orc had possessed him without thinking twice. It was a great consolation among his misery.  
But when their owners discovered them one night, they got a good beating, and were locked in separate cages. The Orc fell ill and died shortly after. Which meant another beating, since they accused him of having passed some disease to the other.

The light amidst darkness came, interestingly, by the hand of a man black as night.  
It was a noble and rich lord of the southernmost lands of Harad; gold twinkled about him and his teeth shone every time he smiled. There were rumours that had distant ancestors among the Black Númenóreans, among those who had served Sauron before his fall. And this man must have sensed something in him, a trace, a remnant, a faint breath of the power of Melkor (whom he worshiped, being one of the few that still did), because he decided to buy him from his owners. The price he offered was so generous, that the traffickers couldn't refuse, and so he fell in the hands of his new owner, after ten years of torture that seemed longer than the entire Second Age. The Haradrim lord recovered his helmet, which had been left hanging on a pole next to his cage as a curiosity. But all his jewels had been sold; priceless works, emerged from the hands of a Maia, and probably changed by a handful of coins as if they were trinkets.  
His new owner took him to live in his palace with the other servants, that he had by the dozen, along with a refined harem of women and boys. And the Mouth of Sauron soon earned his appreciation and rose to counselor, for that noble lord was wise and very interested in the secrets of sorcery that, he guessed, he could learn from that strange creature touched by the hand of a god. The common people spoke of his lord as a cruel and bloodthirsty warrior who oppressed the nearby villages with tributes, but the truth is that he was always very kind with him.  
And just before dying, old and wrinkled, he looked at him one last time, him that had not changed at all, and smiled grateful for having met a true servant of the god Melkor.  
He left him a good part of his fortune, and thus, fifty years after having left Umbar in a cage, the Mouth of Sauron returned to the city dressed in velvet, laden with jewels, and ready to become lord himself.

-Curse you, Búbhosh, stop throwing the food on the floor or I'll smash your face on it!

The shouts of the Orcs took him out the journey through his memories in which he had immersed. Finally they had returned from the tower loaded with a bag of stinky meat for Shelob, but one of them, one of those miserable snaga, had dropped a piece and now his mate, a black uruk, was flipping him.

-Stop fighting and fooling around! –yelled the lieutenant, riding his horse- And let's leave for Cirith Ungol as soon as possible. I don't want to get there overnight.

The flies of Mordor were beginning to swirl around them, as soon as they had smelled the meat, and the Mouth of Sauron had to fence them with his riding crop for much of the journey. There were few things in the world that repelled him more than those flies, and it seemed that with their countless swarms they tried to make up for the lack of other animals in Mordor. In addition, several groups of Orcs, both adults and young, started following them hungry as they approached the mountains, asking for food and even trying to steal some piece.  
Their pleas caused a headache to the lieutenant. Although he couldn't blame them: the surrounding lands didn't produce enough food for half the population. If his master didn't find soon the Ring and focused on more useful objectives, as the conquest of fertile lands, soon they would all look as the Nine Ringwraiths. In addition, his supplies of opium had run out a couple of days ago, and there were still no news of more shipments from Rhûn. The Mouth of Sauron thought that perhaps that was why he was so moody. Well, that, and the ash clouds that Orodruin kept spitting, which they had just left to their right. These caused him annoying coughing fits, accompanied by some other bloody spit.  
As he feared, it was almost dark when they arrived at the cave of the spider, and despite his thick robes, he started shivering. A frozen air stream flowed through the pass in the mountains.

-Is it that in these lands it never gets hot!? -he groaned, spitting at the ground (again with blood).

He dismounted and then turned to the snaga with angry gesture; he hadn't stopped complaining and being left behind all the way, which had delayed them considerably. Because of him, they would have to enter that foul cave with hardly any light.

-You! –he shouted to the laggard Orc.- When we return to Barad-dûr, I will personally take care of your backside!

The creature scratched his head, and smiled a little embarrassed.

-Uh... Thanks, my lord.

-No! Not like that, you scoundrel! Like this! –and he did a demonstration with his riding crop.

The uruk started laughing hoarsely:

-Don't bother about lashing him, my lord. This pig likes everything that they do to him.

The comment costed him another lashing as well.

-Enter once and for all, ye drones!

The cave smelled of moist and putrefaction, but it wasn't difficult to find the monstrous spider, despite the darkness. One just had to follow the sticky threads and the stench.  
Shelob was crouched in a hole in the wall, and there right before her, they left the sack of food. She wouldn't leave her lair until the Mouth of Sauron was gone, that was clear. And the man was also eager to return to the tower; he had never ventured in there at night, and he didn't know if there could be other creatures that, perhaps, didn't fear him so much.  
Then, through the rock walls and hidden recesses, they heard the rumour of a hissing voice. And when they listened more closely, they found out that the voice hummed with understandable words:

"Alive without breath,  
As cold as death;  
Never thirsty, ever drinking,  
All in mail never clinking"

-And what is, my precious, what iss clinking? The rich fish, yes, my love, juicy, slippery, fat fishess! But there aren't here... there aren't here, precious. Where has he taken it? Where has the thief taken it? What had the hobbit got in its pocketses?

And then they heard a strange noise, as if the voice had choked or regurgitated something. The Mouth of Sauron and the Orcs exchanged looks intrigued, and decided to follow the voice, that still talked to itself incoherently.  
When they were close, the man signaled for the Orcs to keep silence, and looked over an outgrowth of rocks.  
There, cowering on the floor, and a happily smashing a lizard against the stones to kill it, was the most pitiful thing that he had ever seen. A bag of bones covered with cerulean semi-transparent skin, smaller than an Orc and even uglier than most, but with large hands and feet of amphibian.  
The lieutenant glanced at the cavity where the creature took refuge, and seeing that there were no other exits, ordered the Orcs to block the path with a gesture. Then he came out of hiding. The being raised his head in amazement, and two huge bulbous eyeballs twinkled in the gloom. Upon seeing the man, he shrieked as an animal and recoiled, showing him his teeth.

-Cursed, cursed goblin-man! Sméagol has not done anything. Go, go fast or we'll eat you, oh, yes, we will, my preciouss! -he snorted.

The Mouth of Sauron stood on the site and tried to calm him; it wasn't a good idea that the creature started running, since he seemed agile and slippery as a fish.

-Be quiet, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to know your name.

-But Sméagol doesn't wants to know yours! You smell like an Orc, and Sméagol likess not Orcs. Yuck! Many bones and tough meat. We prefer the rich fish, yes, delicious fishes. What do you have for Sméagol?

The man smiled and crouched on the floor, to get on his same level and seem less threatening.

-So Sméagol is your name, isn't it? What are you doing here? What are you? -and when he examined him more closely, an idea popped into his mind- Perhaps you are one of the creatures of Melkor?

The being squinted and wrinkled his nostrils.

\- What's a melkor, precious? Tastes good, a melkor?

No, it was clear that he wasn't a creature from the days of Angband, but he was certainly the result of some corruptive power such as... well, such as that which had turned him into what he was.  
The Mouth of Sauron stood up again and ventured a few steps forward, which made Sméagol move back until hitting the wall. Finding himself cornered, he growled and hissed, and became more and more aggressive.

-I don't want to hurt you, Sméagol, but I must take you to Barad-dûr. You have entered the lands of Mordor and have a more than suspicious look. Before we let you go, we have to clarify what you are and what you do here. The Dark Lord will decide.

The mention of Sauron was like an electric shock to the creature, that screamed in that moment, and among more regurgitant sounds, he shouted:

-No, we're not going to the tower! The Great Eye searches for it day and night, wants the preciouss, the preciouss of Sméagol. We hates him, we hates the master of the preciouss! He sstole it from us! What had the hobbit got in its pocketses!?

Then, like a ray of light, a sudden understanding made way into the mind of the man. "The precious". Where had he heard that before?... He had heard it in his head a thousand times, but they were not his words... No, they were the words of his master, incessant, repetitive, anxious. Just like... Just like the words of this miserable monster.  
The lieutenant's face turned grim, considering what that discovery implied, and without warning, he jumped forward and pounced on the wretch. This was much stronger than what his gaunt figure would suggest, and bit, scratched and spit froth as a rabid animal.  
The man called out the Orcs, hoping that they hadn't gone away, disobeying his orders. Which was evident, as it took them a while to appear, and they did it nibbling a stolen bone from the sack for Shelob. Seeing that their lord was in trouble they ran to help, and the uruk soon overcame the hysterical creature, while the snaga pretended to help without letting go of the bone.  
The Mouth of Sauron found a better use for the lazy Orc, and stripping him of the belt, and tearing his shirt in strips, he improvised some straps to keep Sméagol tied. He writhed on the ground uttering the most painful wails and the most furious curses. Anyone who saw him, would say that he was being tormented with red-hot irons.

-Save your cries for later. Because if we're not satisfied by your explanations, you will know what real pain is. –warned the lieutenant.

Without further ado, they loaded the horse with the prisoner and set off towards Barad-dûr. The incessant whining of Sméagol, his meaningless babbling, and the complaints of the snaga about his torn shirt and his leggings that fell, was all the Mouth of Sauron needed for his headache to break him to pieces.  
But neither that nor the return journey by foot could ruin his victory. At last it was going to be thrown some light on the whereabouts of the Ring, and it would be thanks to him. His master would be so proud... His master would love him after this.

There was a great commotion in Barad-dûr upon their return, and they all crowded around to see the curious finding. Sméagol had his eyes wide open with fear and bit more than one that tried to touch him. The lieutenant pushed the crowd aside with the whip and ordered two strong Orcs to load the prisoner and carry him to the top floor. At that point, he was sure that the Eye of his master had already seen everything and was aware of the situation.  
When he reached the closed door that led to the pinnacle, the Mouth of Sauron stopped dead and waited for a response from his master. Behind him, waiting and holding their breath, gathered the Orcs who held Sméagol and the inevitable public, which no threat could move away from the spectacle.  
For several minutes the silence was absolute, as if Sauron ignored them. But then they heard in the distance the muffled sound of hinges rotating upon themselves. And the metallic "clank" of a door closing. After this a few steps, barely noticeable but that were approaching. And another sound of hinges, and a "clank", but this time louder. And more steps. The lieutenant swallowed; he could feel his heartbeat from his temples to the tip of his fingers.  
They still heard three more doors opening and closing. And finally, the footsteps halted in front of the last door between them. The Orcs that stood guard parted to the side and bowed their heads. The man had his fists clenched so tightly, that he was possibly clawing his nails on the palm, and his legs were beginning to fail him. 6000 years. He had waited 6000 years to see again his master face to face, and he felt like crying.  
The door opened, and all the onlookers stifled an exclamation. With the passing of the tall figure, covered in iron from head to toe, a wave of glacial cold stabbed their souls. And they all stepped aside and looked away, as no one could resist the flame of that single eye, shining from the depths of the helmet and piercing them mercilessly.  
The lieutenant fell on his knees before him, trembling, and the tears that rolled down his cheek seemed made of ice.

\- Master... –it was all he managed to murmur, not daring to raise his head.

A metal glove with only four fingers gestured to him to stand up and follow him with the prisoner, who had stopped screaming because of the fear that paralyzed him.  
The Mouth of Sauron went down to the deepest dungeons of Barad-dûr following the black cape of his master, waving in front of him as in the days of Angband.  
But the cape was all he recognized from his former Lord. If only he could break through all that iron, and find the Maia who once protected and caressed him! Though now, the idea that this maimed hand touched him, was enough to make him shudder.  
What had happened to his master?

Once in the dungeon, Sauron told him to lay the wretch on a rack and chain his wrists and ankles to two separate tourniquets. By turning a crank beside, the tourniquets turned around themselves, stretching the members of the victim.  
At first, they failed to get from Sméagol anything but faltering babbling, shrieks and inconsistencies, but after a couple of turns of the crank, they got the tale of how the Ring had come into his possession.  
According to his story, Sméagol was fishing one day in the river Anduin near the Gladden Fields, with a friend, when the latter fell into the water dragged by an unusually large fish, and found a most peculiar object in the bottom. It happened that just that day was Sméagol's birthday, so his friend gave him the newfound ring, and thus became his most prized possession.  
Sauron let out a cruel laugh, guessing the hypocrisy of his words. He knew better than anyone that no being would ever part with his Ring so generously. However, this wasn't the story that interested him the most.

-Where is it now? My Ring! Where is it!?

But at these words, the mouth of Sméagol shut stubbornly.  
The Maia made a signal to his lieutenant and he, getting himself together, turned the crank again. He heard a horrifying scream and noticed how the body twisted in vain, but didn't dare to look.  
Sauron repeated the question, and also this time there was only silence. He made a signal again, and the tourniquets turned the whole circle once more, and once more the dungeon rang with the shrieks of the most excruciating pain.  
The body of the prisoner was now so stretched that the Mouth of Sauron feared that his ribs would pierce the thin skin. He began to feel sick. Of course, he had beaten on more than one occasion the odd wayward Orc, but this was a kind of torture that surpassed him, and he only wished that it ended as soon as possible.  
Then Sauron bent over the creature and forced him to look into his eye directly, before asking for the third time where was his Ring. Sméagol opened his mouth as if to speak, but from his throat just came that abominable sound that he kept repeating.  
The lieutenant feared what would come next, and when the mutilated hand of his master rose to make the unmistakable gesture, he had to close his eyes tightly before touching the crank.  
He heard the sound of a tendon tearing, and a crack, and felt like throwing up and thought that he would faint right there.

But among the unbearable screams of that destroyed being, they could clearly distinguish two words.  
And for Sauron they were more than enough.


	7. The Shadow before the Door of Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was quite difficult to write. With Sauron in his role of all-seeing paranoid eye, I needed a different point of view, so just for this chapter, the action moves rather to the Mouth of Sauron.
> 
> Featuring his misadventures behind the tracks of the Ringbearer, and his little trip to Moria in the opposite direction of the Fellowship, with his own particular "Sam".  
> As usual, there's a bit of humour and a bit of drama, but this covers the war of the ring from its start to its end, so we all know how it goes for Sauron.
> 
> Warnings: perverted trees, orc sex, and Tom Bombadil.  
> Sorry! (or maybe not?).

_Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,  
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended._

-The Lord of the Rings (Fog on the Barrow-Downs)

The search for the Shire and the mysterious "Baggins" had begun almost immediately after the confession of Sméagol, but without the results that Sauron had expected at first.  
Whatever those two words meant, they weren't much known in Middle-earth, nor came from any of the great kingdoms of Men and Elves. The Maia despaired thinking about the filthy and forlorn hole in which his precious Ring must had fallen, if none of his spies could find its whereabouts. It had been impossible to draw any more from the captured creature, because after the brutal torture, the mind of Sméagol had finally broken altogether and his speech had degenerated to the lowest level of incoherence.  
Recalling then the cunning plan of Melkor to find Gondolin, Sauron decided to release the wretch, hoping that, just as Húrin before, he would unwittingly lead him to his precious. But Sméagol had been captured by a man and disappeared from the face of the earth.  
Saruman, meanwhile, claimed to know nothing about the Shire, although there was a glimmer of hypocrisy in his eyes, that not even through the palantír he could disguise. He would take care of that maggot later.

The first certain news reached him, as used to happen, in the most unexpected manner and through the most unlikely servant.  
An exhausted and dying warg appeared one day before the Black Gate of Mordor. And before succumbing to the effort that had brought him there at full speed, he informed the guards at the door with his last breath.  
The wolf came from the Lonely Mountain, and one night in which he had ventured to the outskirts of the city of Dale, beset by hunger, he had heard an interesting conversation between two villagers.  
One of them, already decrepit, was telling the younger one some stories from his childhood, and among them spoke of the battle waged by the Dwarves to recover the mountain long ago. The words that caught the attention of warg were these:

"With Thorin and company came a curious subject, a "hobbit" in his own words, called Bilbo... Bilbo Baggins, if I remember well. King Dáin is his friend. He played an important role in the war, despite being so small. Though who knows if all that is true or just the exaggerations of old gals? My memory is not what it used to be..."

And after this report, the warg died right there, worn out by fatigue and hunger.  
Sauron wished that all his servants were so commited.

It was because of the ravings of that old man, maybe true maybe not so much, that the Mouth of Sauron stood then before the gates of Erebor.  
For the third time.  
Twice already the Dwarves had slammed the door on his face and had sent him back to Mordor without information. Centuries passed on Middle-earth, but neither the customs, nor the language, nor the rudeness of those Dwarves seemed to change at all.  
The Mouth of Sauron ordered his escort to blow the trumpets again and announce his arrival one more time. Being the herald of Mordor was a less pleasant task than it could seem at first. Especially since no one outside Mordor wanted to know anything about Mordor (in fact, many people from Mordor didn't want to know anything about Mordor either).  
At last, after much blare of trumpets and a lot of pounding on the door, the king Dáin deigned to receive them. Although of course, he didn't let them come inside.  
The Mouth of Sauron gave him a charming smile full of sharp teeth and rimmed in black, and in a soft tone of veiled threat he asked:

-Have ye thought about our offer already? Three rings of the Dwarven kings of old, in exchange only of the whereabouts of that thief named Baggins. Do not despise the generosity of the Dark Lord, for this is not infinite.

Dáin furrowed his wrinkled brow and stroke his beard.

-Yes, I've thought about your offer. But I guess I'll think about it a bit longer still.

The man's smile curved downwards in a grimace of irritation.

-Well, don't think about it for too long! The patience of the Dark Lord is not infinite either.

And then came the usual slam on his face. The Mouth of Sauron was forced to return to his horse grumbling.

-Dáin Ironfoot. .. He should be called Dáin Brickhead. -he muttered. And turning to the massive stone door, he issued foth one last threat:- Before the end of this year I'll pay a new visit to you, and if ye keep refusing to cooperate, the next visit will be paid by our armies!

That said, he went back to Mordor to inform Sauron of his humiliation.

"One more time".  
As he and his entourage rode by the shores of Anduin, just past Dol Guldur, a wave of terrible fear stiffened his limbs. His, those of the orcs who were with him, and even those of his horse. There were only some beings in the world capable of instigating such terror, between repulsive and magnetic.  
Nine beings in particular.  
But the man couldn't see them even though he perceived them around him clearly.

-Nazgûl. .. -whispered one of the guards at his right.

-Even worse. Naked Nazgûl! -growled the man. The mere thought of accidentally brushing one of those fleshless wraiths was horrifying. Swallowing hard, he finally dared to call them.- Where are ye, cursed ones!? And what are ye doing so far from Mordor, and why don't ye let others see you?

Sepulchral voices hissed around him, and an invisible claw pierced his leg eliciting a cry of surprise.

-Shhh, stupid mortal, your screams echo through the whole valley! This is a secret mission.

It seemed to be the voice of the Witch King, but the man wasn't sure because they all spoke very similar. But when he wanted to ask them what was the mission about, the claw on his leg, the hissing through clenched teeth and the wave of panic had already vanished.

Everything was made clear upon his return to the tower. Sauron had just discovered that the man who had captured Sméagol had delivered him to his enemies. And fearing that the creature had also revealed to them the whereabouts of his Ring, he had sent immediately the Nazgûl in search of the Shire. In theory, it couldn't be far from the Gladden Fields, if that was where Sméagol had lived and where it was stolen.  
In theory.  
In these thoughts was plunged the Maia, as he paced anxiously around the palantír, alone in his pinnacle. But the days passed and he received no news. The Orcs that he had sent to Mirkwood to recover Sméagol had managed to free him, but after that the elusive being had escaped from their clumsy claws.  
Sauron sometimes felt like taking all the Orcs of Mordor and melting them in the incandescent guts of Orodruin. And felt like throwing the palantír through a small window of the tower, or setting fire to the scarce furniture of the pinnacle. Even if it was just to vent his rage. Wasn't that what Melkor had done in Angband?

Saruman wouldn't confess anything still, no matter how many times a day he harassed him through the seeing stone. The old wizard always answered with the same tone of innocence and the same hypocritical look.  
Until one warm day of Summer, Sauron saw a suspicious concern in the little black eyes of the old man. There was something that upset him, that distracted him, and because of that a small crack in his mind, normally closed and bolted, was left open. Open enough for Sauron to enter and leave exposed the deceptions of the wizard.

-You are not alone in your tower, Saruman. -he whispered slowly, with the softness of a cat before jumping on its prey.- What are you hiding? Or rather, _whom_ are you hiding?

Saruman trembled imperceptibly, and a wrinkle of concern appeared on his forehead. He knew it was already late, very late; he shouldn't have lowered his guard, not even for a second.

-I don't... I'm not hiding...

-Stop lying to me, you treacherous and miserable worm! –the eye in flames seared his thoughts, and Saruman clutched his temples, racked with pain.- Do you think that I can't see it, in the dark and deceptive corners of your mind? You have one of my worst enemies captive in Orthanc. Yes, Olórin, that whom is called Gandalf now! And he knows... he knows many things about my Ring, I'm afraid.

Sauron released the wizard's mind, and he tried to compose himself among coughs, as if the pressure had been around his throat.

-Yes, my Lord, I admit it. I have Gandalf in the tower, but if I haven't told thee before, it's because I haven't yet managed to make him confess anything about the Shire, and I didn't want to importunate thee with trifles, my Lord.

-Well, you better get a confession soon, my dear Saruman. Because in a few days I will send my wraiths after you. And then you'd better have something more to offer me than "trifles".

After which, the palantír was put out and turned completely black, while a drop of cold sweat trickled down the old man's forehead.  
Thereafter Sauron tried to extend his thought to the Nine Ringwraiths, who were still lost somewhere in the North, but failed to detect their presence. The loss of the Ring had seriously damaged his ability to communicate with them in the distance. With a sigh of frustration, he contacted his lieutenant to bring himself the message to the Witch King. He found him very relaxed and receptive, definitely enjoying his days of rest; well, these were going to end soon.

-Search for the Nazgûl and say this to them: "Saruman knows where is the Shire. Go to Isengard and don't leave until ye get a satisfactory answer". Express also my disappointment and anger to the Witch King for the ineptitude that he has displayed so far in this task. -said the voice of his master.- As for you, and since you have to travel to the North, drop by Erebor to ask again for that Baggins. Maybe a surprise visit will make the Dwarves nervous.

-Yes, master. -replied the man, releasing a puff of numbing smoke with great satisfaction. He wished that the Nazgûl weren't invisible, so he could see the face of the Witch King when he dropped those criticisms under his pretentious nose.

As things were, he had to conform himself with the painful howl of the Nazgûl upon hearing the insults of his Lord, and some others that the Mouth of Sauron added for his part.  
However, the Ringwraiths were eager to please the Maia as soon as possible, in compensation for all their previous failures, and they departed for Isengard immediately at full gallop.  
The Mouth of Sauron and his escort continued with their much less exciting journey to Erebor.

But while crossing Mirkwood they were attacked without warning by the arrows of the Silvan Elves. The ambush caused great confusion in the company, which wasn't prepared for battle but for a diplomatic mission, and the Orcs broke ranks in disarray. The lieutenant was forced to turn around and escape quickly from the shadows of wood, where they were an easy target.  
It was unbelievable that those savages dared to attack a herald, perhaps even the minimum standards of civilization weren't valid any more? Though on the other hand, it was just natural that in the face of the growing exasperation and aggressiveness of Barad-dûr, the other realms responded with hostility as well.

Once out of the forest, the Mouth of Sauron caught his breath and reviewed his company. A third of the Orcs was missing; some of them certainly dead, others wounded and captured alive, unfortunately for them, and many others (he suspected) simply had fled to start a new, idyllic life without masters. Of this latter type seemed to be increasingly more in Mordor.

-I already told thee, lord lieutenant, that it wasn't a good idea to go through this damn forest. -complained the captain of the guard, pulling an arrow from his arm and spitting to the ground with contempt.- The attack on the realm of Thranduil is still too recent, and those filthy Elves don't forgive. What a stupid way to lose some of my best lads! I saw how they wounded the poor Ghâshum in the leg. Who knows what they're doing to him now! Probably they will rape him one after the other, the brutes...

-Of course! That's what one would expect of an Orc in the hands of a bunch of Elves. -replied the Mouth of Sauron rolling his eyes.- Though on the other hand, it wouldn't be unfair, given that this was what you intended to do with Thranduil according to your stupid chants.

-It was just a song! Is it that we can't sing now?

-Not that kind of songs, and not while we're going through Mirkwood, idiots! What happens is that ye draw the attention everywhere ye go, making a racket and stomping like a herd of stampeding cows. Had I been alone, I would have been respected as the herald I am.

-Well then go alone, "my lord"!

-Well, that's what I 'll do! –talked back the lieutenant, standing haughtily on his horse.- But I will not go to the Lonely Mountain, no. There's nothing of interest there. I will follow the Nazgûl to the Shire and capture the hobbit. I myself will deliver him to the Lord! I cannot let that handful of floating rags rob me of the glory and appreciation of the master, that I have so long pursued, long before them. Ye can do whatever ye want; ye can come with me, or return to Mordor, or stay here and wait for the Elves to capture you. With a little luck, and if ye beg them enough, maybe ye will even convince them of raping you and everything. Farewell!

And whipping his horse he rode away like a whirlwind of fury. No Orc followed him, mostly because that outburst had left them too confused.  
The Mouth of Sauron didn't care if they thought he was crazy, or even if his master got angry with him for disobeying an order. Priorities had changed now. And if perchance he failed and was killed in some remote corner of the world, well, that would barely affect the plans of his Lord. So he had nothing to lose by trying.  
The lieutenant flashed past the plains of Rohan, now almost uninhabited in that area. He was just a black spot moving on the green vastness; nobody noticed him.  
He was already approaching Isengard, when he glimpsed another black spot a little ahead of him, coming from the south at a slower pace. The other rider had also noticed him, and made feints to avoid him with a detour of his path. But in the horses of Mordor always burned a wrathful and unquenchable fire, which at the right time could impel them to the end of the world if necessary. Goading the beast with his riding crop, the Mouth of Sauron managed to overcome the other rider, and cut him off abruptly. The horse of the stranger reared up and threw down his master.  
A man, pale as death and miserable, writhed among moans of pain. The lieutenant was reminded of a dying worm.

-You rode to Isengard, didn't you?

-Don't... Don't hurt me, please, sir. -he sobbed.

-Answer my question!

-Yes, yes, I was going to Isengard, sir!

-Then you are a servant of Saruman, and you must know about the Shire, right? Tell me everything you know about that region or I will give you more reasons to sob!

The shadow of the huge horse covered the man, and he shuddered when he saw the cadaverous head of the monster, and the no less grotesque skull that hid the face of its rider. With moist eyes, he agreed to show him the shortest path to the Shire, describing with precision each river, hill and settlement. The detailed mental map that he painted for him was enough to convince the lieutenant that Saruman was a traitor, who had long known about the existence of that place.  
When he asked about Baggins the wretch hesitated, as if he couldn't remember. But the horse's leg raising over his head to crush him quickly refreshed his memory.

-Oh, my lord, please have mercy on me! -he begged, shrinking like a wounded earthworm.- I know nothing about any Baggins. But I recall my master mentioning certain Sackville-Baggins that lived in a place called... called... Hobbiton, I think. The master Saruman has some dealings with them, to buy pipeweed.

The Mouth of Sauron smirked.

-I guess that's enough. You can get up and continue with your pathetic life. Although I will give you some counsel: I used to be like you, but if you want to survive in the service of a Maia, you should wise up a little.

And after that the lieutenant carried on with his journey, barely stopping to rest or eat, until he reached the Greenway that would lead him directly to Hobbiton. However, before arriving at the crossroad where he should go Northwest, he bumped into a black shadow crowned with iron in the middle of the road.  
He gritted his teeth in disgust, why was he always so unlucky?

-Fool! What are you doing here? You should not meddle in the hunt of the Nazgûl. -snapped the Witch King, with a voice steely like a dagger.

-Change of plans. The lord Sauron sent me so that I supervised and assisted you in the search for the Ring. He doesn't trust you any more. -lied the man. He could imagine the hateful grimace of the wraith upon hearing this coupled with the forbidden name.- Ye will also be interested in knowing that Saruman is a treacherous liar.

-That's nothing new. We discovered it a few days ago when we caught one of his servants, one of those half-orcs, loaded with maps and information about the Shire. – the lieutenant was somewhat disappointed, believing that this news would be unheard of. - Besides you're too late. Baggins has already left Hobbiton and I have several Ringwraith chasing him. I have also prepared a surprise for him in the Barrow-downs.

The iron gauntlet pointed towards a land strewn with gloomy hills, just to the left of the road.

-But there must be certainly something that I can do.

-No. Or maybe... Yes, there is something you can do. -muttered the Witch King. The lieutenant didn't know why, but he had the impression that right then some invisible lips were stretched into a wicked grin under that hood.- You can inspect that forest beyond the Downs. The hobbits must have been there, or be about to enter it.

The chuckle of the Nazgûl didn't help to alleviate the man's suspicions.

-What is in that forest? -he asked with mistrust.

-Trees. As in all forests.

-And the hobbits ? Have ye seen them already? What kind of creatures are they?

-Great and terrible. Their eyes give off fire and blood drips from their nails. They like to bite off the hearts of men, and then eat it still throbbing. -and the Witch King let out a horrible laugh, and pressed his finger against the chest of the lieutenant.

He felt a piercing cold, and guessed it was the Nazgûl who wanted to see his heart pulled out by the roots, rather than those "hobbits", whatever they were.  
Burning with the desire of losing sight of the wraith as soon as possible, the Mouth of Sauron galloped into the woods and reached its boundary in the evening of that same day.  
The forest smelled of old, of rancid wood and stagnant air. Oppression seemed to hang from every branch as a suffocating veil.  
The man rode around he didn't know for how long, but he found absolutely nothing, not a trace or a footprint or even the slightest sign of inhabitants. It was even possible that he had been circling around the same place without even realizing it. Of course, the Witch King had played a dirty trick on him.  
Finally exhausted, he dismounted, took a bite, and fell into a restless sleep. It seemed to him that in his sleep, the hanging stems and surrounding vines coiled around his body and caressed him with lust.  
He woke up very hot and nervous, but fortunately there was no plant on him, or worse, _inside_ of him.  
He shook his head to banish the memories of the torrid nightmare, since it couldn't have been anything but this, and regretted not having any Orc at hand. He had sworn to himself that he would abandon that bad habit hundreds of times, but maybe old vices never died at all.  
Then remembering where he was, he continued the fruitless search through the forest. It had hardly dawned, but the air was already unbearably hot and dense, while the weeds always seemed to grow thicker wherever he intended to pass through. He was forced to take many detours, until he lost all sense of direction, and unable to check the location of the Sun beyond the impenetrable roof of branches, he resigned himself to be carried by the instinct of his horse.  
After a while, the atmosphere became more cool and breathable, and he caught the sound of running water. A river was in his way, but a little above its course he discovered a ford of rough stones and decided to cross it. The soft soil of the other bank was marked here and there with traces of big boots, and marks of small and bare feet. Intrigued, he dismounted and bent down to examine the evidence more closely.  
A stroke of good luck at least. And who knows, maybe in a few hours he would have in his clutches that elusive Baggins and the precious of his master.  
The Mouth of Sauron half-closed his eyes in joy, thinking about the eternal gratitude of the Maia and how he would reward him after that, and his daydreams soon drifted to the most improbable and exaggerated fantasies.  
He was so engrossed in this parallel world, that he only became aware of the voice when it was very close. A cheerful, richly nuanced voice, like the murmur of the entire forest concentrated in a single throat, that approached singing the most ridiculous song that he had ever heard:

_Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!_  
 _Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!_  
 _Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!_

Springing up, the lieutenant drew his hand to the sword in his belt, prepared to welcome the stranger. Although no preparation would have been enough for what he found before him seconds later.  
A ruddy, rotund man dressed in a bizarre way, that leapt over every bush and tree with astonishing ease. One would almost say that it was the plants which retreated from his path.

-Hey dol! Merry, dol! Hello, little friend. -he exclaimed, planting himself before him with a jump that made the ground boom, and completely ruining the trail of footprints with his huge boots.

The Mouth of Sauron grimaced, without removing his hand from his belt. Nobody welcomed the spokesman of Mordor calling him "little friend". Just not.

-And who are you supposed to be, old geezer? -snapped the lieutenant, though he wasn't sure whether the man was really old or young.

-Oh, hum! Old I am indeed. Oldest, that's me. But not an old geezer. Tom Bombadil is my name. I'm picking water lilies. And who are you, dear friend? Neither man nor hobbit you seem. Perhaps you've escaped from a barrow.

The Mouth of Sauron ignored the comment, and with a flourish of the hand, intended to draw gleams from the jewels on his fingers to impress that beggar, he introduced himself:

-I am the lieutenant of Barad-dûr, at the service of the Dark Lord in the land of Mordor. I am the spokesman of the Great Eye all over Middle-earth and I am respected wherever I go. Because of my rank...

But the eccentric individual wasn't listening, but had crouched beside the bank and was picking water lilies among more absurd chants about rivers and gold berries. The lieutenant stomped on the ground, outraged.

-Don't dare to turn your back to me, rustic ignorant! Maybe in your town ye have not heard of Mordor and the Dark Lord, but I swear that if you ever disrespect me again, ye will soon speak about us and it will be among sobs. -the so called Tom merely raised his head and grinned from ear to ear, as if he had heard something very funny.- Hearken now, because this is extremely important, and if you cooperate, the Dark Lord will reward you with infinite riches. I need to know if you've seen around here one of those hobbits, one called Baggins.

-Baggins, Baggins, merry dol, under the willows he came, he came from Hobbiton. –the subject kept singing, and a misterious brightness twinkled for one second in his blue eyes.

The lieutenant began to miss the obscene song of the Orcs about Thranduil; compared with this torture, it was almost the Music of the Ainur.

-Yes, Baggins, from Hobbiton! Have you seen him or not?

-Tom sees many things. Stars in the sky, roots in the earth, lilies in the water, voices in the wind. But few have seen Tom, yes. Unless Tom lets them see him. Perhaps, my little friend, perhaps I have seen some hobbits. Come over here!

And with a few nimble leaps, Tom stood a few feet below the river's course. The Mouth of Sauron went behind him in resignation, hoping that he showed him something interesting, but the stranger started circling around the area as if looking for something on the ground. The lieutenant's eyes followed him, turning his back to the river.  
Then Tom rose, and suddenly his eyes had the disturbing air of very old things. Something brushed the wrist of the lieutenant, something rough but flexible, and then he noticed the same thing on the other wrist, and on his ankle, and climbing up his leg. Startled, he looked down and discovered with horror that the branches of the willow, on which he had leaned back inadvertently, were intertwining around his limbs like serpents.

-What!? In the name of Melkor, what's going on here!? –he shrieked, with a voice a few tones higher than usual.

He struggled to get rid of the bonds, but to no avail, and each time there were more branches holding him. They pulled his wrists backwards until his back hit the trunk, and still a few new branches bent around his waist to pin him in place. At this point, the Mouth of Sauron didn't even bother to hide his panic, and had started to pant as if he was lacking air.  
Tom's face, vanished just moments ago, came back into view and let out a gentle laugh.

-Don't worry, it's just the Old Man Willow, nothing more. Tom doesn't like emissaries from Mordor coming to his forest and threatening his friends. Tom knows what's in Mordor, neither river nor water lilies nor leaves in the wind. But be calm, he won't hurt you. He's just a naughty old man, nothing more.

\- A... A naughty old man? –the lieutenant swallowed, recalling the dream of last night, though he wasn't so sure anymore if it had been just a dream.

As if answering to his fears, he heard a rotten evil laugh coming directly from inside the tree, and the branches parted his legs slightly.

-Hey, hey, Old Man Willow, be nice to our guest or I will make me a new chair with your bones! -Tom warned him, kicking him in the trunk.

The disgusting willow shuddered, and whispered in the ear of his victim a few words of mocking affection, while his dried leaves brushed his neck in a sort of caress.  
This only served to further terrorize the lieutenant.

-That's better, I think he likes you. -Tom laughed, clapping his hands.- I must go now, Goldberry is waiting.

And turning around, he merrily went away through the woods.  
The Mouth of Sauron hurled out invectives that had not been heard in Middle-earth since the days of Angband. But he only got in response the last verses of the song of Tom Bombadil.

_Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!_  
 _Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day._  
 _Tom's going home again water-lilies bringing._  
 _Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?_

He had no idea how many hours he spent so immobilized and at the mercy of that bewitched tree, and at some point weariness overcame him and he fell asleep.  
The hit against the ground when the branches finally released him, was what woke him up. It was again morning, and the red face of Tom smiled at him amused from above. But this time the lieutenant didn't even bother to talk with him. Letting out a cry of fright he jumped up, ran to his horse (which apparently Tom had taken care of), and mounting unceremoniously he fled at full gallop from that sinister forest, from its lewd trees, and especially from the outlandish little man, in a way more terrifying than Melkor in all his fury. This time the thicket seemed to get away from his path instead of hindering him, as if it also looked forward to lose sight of him.

In Barad-dûr, Sauron received with very little please the news about the hunt of the Ring. He had sent nine wraiths that he believed capable until then, armed with deadly swords and mounted on swift horses, and upon their return he had found nine defeated shadows, almost vanished after falling into a river. Moreover, the Ring had entered Rivendell, and now it was quite possible that Elrond wanted to use it to wage war on him.  
His lieutenant, on the other hand, had disobeyed him even if he had good intentions, and had returned to the tower in a heap.  
The Maia cursed them. Did he have to take care of absolutely everything if he wanted things properly done? Maybe his eye saw far and wide away, but he only had one after all. What more expected those worthless that he did for them?  
Then he took out the nine rings that hung from his neck and squeezed them in his hand, passing to the metal the incandescent fire of wrath that had burned his body. Shortly thereafter, the tortured screams of the Nine Ringwraiths echoed through the tower from the ground to its pinnacle.

As for his spokesman, well, the Maia considered that merely expressing his disappointment, and being molested by an old willow, were punishment enough for him.

It was clear that he couldn't trust anyone, not even the elite of the Nazgûl, and thereafter he would have to monitor more directly what was done in Barad-dûr. The prospect of leaving his pinnacle in his current state wasn't pleasant, of course. But the obsession with his precious had diverted his attention for too long, and perhaps his control over the servants wasn't as perfect as before.  
Because of this, in the months that followed Sauron visited daily the armoury and foundries. War was imminent, either with Rivendell (although so far they gave no signs of wanting to use his Ring), or with Gondor or even with Rohan, and it was necessary to direct all possible resources towards the development of new and more powerful weapons.  
One of the most impressive was the new battering ram, just finished, over which Sauron run his four fingers sheathed in iron that morning of February.

-Grond. The new hammer of the underworld... -muttered the Maia to himself, stroking the grotesque carvings of the machine.- My lord Melkor, rarely didst thou wield thy mace in the battles of the ancient days, but thou wieldedst it well. This mace, however, won't crush the ground but the doors of proud cities. Let its greatness be a tribute to thy ego, its might to thy unrestrained anger. Let its name bring back thine to the lips of our enemies. -and then, as if he had just returned from a voyage through the lonely spaces of the Void, Sauron came to his senses and addressed the uruk in charge of the armoury.- I see that the war machines are ready for the most part. You did a good job with your whip on the backs of slaves, Gothmog.

The Orc shifted a little uneasy upon hearing that name. He didn't understand why his master insisted in calling him thus all the time. Although anyway, the Maia was behaving a bit strange lately. As if he tried to return to the past, if only in thought. Maybe he was becoming unhinged; too much pain could have that effect and he knew it well, for he had often seen it in the miserable Orcs that one abused too much. Shrugging to this idea, the uruk accompanied his lord to the exit of the armoury, once finished the inspection.  
After that Sauron decided to visit the breeding chambers, to check the progress of the new troops that would replace the current ones in a few years, after the expected casualties during the war. The heat was stifling there, since they had built them just above the forges. And not long ago, the new mounts of the Nazgûl had emerged from those pits after years of growth sustained by fell meats. They were the last fruit of his master Melkor, begotten in the throbbing depths of Utumno and ripened in the airless underground tunnels of Mordor. And like all his fruits, they possessed a withered but grandiose beauty.

The attendant of the breeding program greeted him with a nod. At one time he had been a great warrior, but now he was just a pathetic Orc who missed a leg and needed a crutch for support. Age had mellowed his character, too, and he wasn't useful anymore but for that unworthy task.  
The first thing that he showed to him was the group of Orcs selected to breed a new generation with the females. These were placed in a row and looked away when the Eye rested upon them for examination, as if they felt naked and ashamed.  
Sauron nodded pleased upon seeing the great stature and muscular build of the uruks there. Saruman had managed to improve the breed even more than him, and this was a thorn in his heart that he was eager to pull out at ant cost. A good way to start, was selecting only the most capable Orcs for reproduction. And while he watched those disciplined and ordered individuals, he almost felt proud of his current soldiers, and of the rational, efficient way in which their children would come into the world.  
Nothing to do with the repulsive mating rituals practiced by those creatures when they were left to their own devices...  
Once again the Maia's thoughts regressed to the days of Angband. Too many times he had to watch that spectacle then, during the campaigns against the Noldor. It used to happen after a victorious battle, when the troops were most inebriated with blood, pillage and alcohol. A soldier started insulting another one that sat beside him, half joking and half serious. Insults soon turned into punches on the arms, and then into a fight in which the two wretches rolled on the floor tangled. They began to nibble at each other, and growls gave way to stifled laughter. Until finally, one of them landed on top of the other, the latter relaxed himself, and his partner penetrated him with great joy for both and for any Orc who was watching. After finishing they licked each other clean and fell asleep, one above the other. And what was obtained from all this? Just two Orcs tired and sore the next day, too besotted by their partner to successfully perform the duties of a soldier.  
Very inefficient.  
Sauron despised it, and he had begun to despise even the things, not so different, that he had done with Melkor in Angband. That had been a waste of time and energy, he repeated himself. And though a small part of his mind tried to break through the iron that covered his head, and shout how very wrong and false was this idea, Sauron silenced it again with a push inwards. It was his way to not become definitely mad.  
Then, a detail out of place caught his attention. There in the row, flanked by two magnificent uruks, was a runt and weak Orc. The Eye burned with a fiery anger, and grabbing the culprit by the arm, pulled him out of the line and threw him to the floor.

-What is supposed to do this scum here!? The snaga serve well as playthings for the captains, but none of them should approach any female under any circumstances! I don't want more crook-legged, half-brained eyesores in my army!

The assistant was quick to apologize, and with a discreet nod told the snaga said to go away running for his own good, which he did rather relieved by the rejection.

-My Lord, under normal conditions I would have never considered that individual as a suitable father, but now we have few uruks here. Most have been already relocated for war.

-So what? It's not necessary to have one uruk for each of the females. We're not talking about the damned weddings of the Elves! Ye can reuse the same subject several times.

-Yes, my Lord, but then is enough that a single one happens to be sick, to infect everyone else. We have lost many females in the past because of this. That poor devil, on the other hand, was healthy and a virgin.

Sauron clenched his fists, suffocated by heat, anger and frustration. He was beginning to feel like ripping the balls of that old bigmouth orc, to let him know what he thought about his breeding policies.  
At that moment, something small hit the Maia on the leg with a thud. It was one of the repellent offspring of those creatures, so dazed by the high temperatures that couldn't even see where he was going. Sauron grabbed him by the neck, irritated, and squeezed his throat until the little Orc let out a shrill and pitiful shriek.

-Please, my Lord... It's just a child. -begged the assistant.

-How old is it?

-I estimate that about six years.

-Six years! It doesn't even reach my knee. How pathetic!

-I know, my Lord, they grow very slowly. But most are malnourished; there are great food shortages.

-War comes first! And then, if we are victorious, will come the food. Those are the priorities.

The assistant held his tongue, before he let out any comments about the priorities of the Maiar and how they differed from those of others. Sauron released the Orc child with contempt, and he fell to the ground making a sound of empty guts.  
Unlike the development of machines, there were many things that he disliked about the development of his flesh and blood weapons. Disease, hunger, misery... Those weren't the things that he had envisioned in his perfect and aseptic image of the troops of Mordor, marching in order under a single banner.  
Perhaps, over time, he should replace soldiers with devices of the technique, much more reliable, much more obedient.

Meanwhile, the imp had fled awkwardly towards the door, but then a soldier with long hairy arms and malevolent eyes cut him off at the threshold. The small Orc let out another shriek of fright and went back to the assistant to hide behind his only leg, trembling all over.

-Captain Grishnákh from company 235 present, my Lord. I bring news of great importance from the Emyn Muil. -he said with a soft but particularly unpleasant voice. Sauron beckoned him to continue.- It's about the Uruk-hai of Saruman. Yesterday there was a squirmish by the banks of Anduin, in which they killed a man and seized something that thou seekest with much eagerness, my Lord. The hobbits, two of them to be exact. My lads and I couldn't avoid that those swines took the prize to Isengard, but I came back at full speed during the night to warn thee about the purposes of that traitor wizard and to receive further instructions.

The eye of the Maia had opened with interest, but he concealed his excitement in front of the captain, who didn't inspire him much trust.

-How were the hobbits? -he asked, with feigned calm.

-Oh! They were very small, with curly hair, pretty faces and smooth skin. Just like children... –replied the Orc, glancing sideways at the frightened imp. The assistant scowled; he didn't like the glow of his eyes while he said this.

Sauron nodded thoughtfully. It was clear that they were hobbits, because the description matched that of the Nazgûl, even when these hadn't used such _appreciative_ words.

\- My Lord, -continued Grishnákh- could I know why are these hobbits so important?

-That's none of your concerns, worm! Limit yourself to get back to the Uruk-hai and try to snatch the prisoners from them, nothing more. And don't even think about laying a finger on them! I want them intact, understood?

-Yes, my Lord. -muttered the Orc through clenched teeth.- But I've come a long way to Lugburz and I'm exhausted. With thy allowance, I 'd like to stay around here for a while... to relax, thou knowest.

Upon hearing this, the other Orc raised his fist indignantly.

-I would be dead and gutted by vultures before leaving you alone with the little ones, you depraved pig! I know all too well those of your kind.

-What's wrong with it? It's a way to teach them to fear and respect their superiors, isn't it? -replied Grishnákh squinting and licking his dirty fangs.- Though maybe I should ride you instead, Lughorn. How long has it been since someone planted a turnip in your back garden, you disgusting one-leg?

-Apparently your dear friends have planted too many in yours, the _large_ Uruk-hai, given that you limp more than I with just one leg! -the aforementioned spat at the mention of Saruman's Orcs.

-Do you know what? I have another long thing besides the arms. Maybe I should shut your trap with it.

The imp had covered his ears a while ago, realizing that this was an ugly adult conversation, and Sauron was about to do the same. He couldn't believe that they were talking about those things in front of him, not caring in the least for the decency and decorum due to a sacred Ainu. Definitely, discipline had reached rock bottom.

-Silence both of you, scums! I don't need to hear any of this! As for you, -growled the Maia, addressing Grishnákh- you will depart immediately. But do not worry; since you are very tired and so eager to ride something, one of the Nazgûl will carry you to Anduin on his winged beast. You can ride that!

The Orc shuddered at the thought of having to approach a Ringwraith, but just nodded with clenched teeth, and left the chamber frustrated.

During the days that followed, Sauron anxiously awaited for the arrival of news about the hobbits, but he only received the most exasperating silence.  
There were two options: either Saruman already had the Ring in his possession, or worse, one of those mangy Orcs that he sent had discovered it, had kept it, and now it lay in a remote cave in the mountains. This second option was unbearable for him; his precious had been hidden for so long... and now again? It could not be, it couldn't be possible that some brainless Orcs had learned his purpose. No one else in Mordor knew what Sméagol had said during interrogation, no one knew of the connection between the hobbits and the Ring.  
Only Saruman, unfortunately, and the Nazgûl... and his lieutenant.  
Sauron gritted his teeth, fearing the worst, and called the man before him. He came crestfallen, for clearly perceived the emanations of fury about his master.

-With whom have you spoken of the Ring and the hobbits? Confess!

-With no one at all, I swear, my Lord.

-Are you sure that you haven't mentioned it to any Orc? You spend much time fooling around with them, and sometimes the tongue gets loose on those occasions.

The Mouth of Sauron closed his eyes, saddened. It was very painful to hear those harsh words, and the tone of contempt with which they had been uttered. Maybe his master no longer liked him, maybe he had failed him too many times, maybe he considered him too dirty. If he could only tell him why he did the things he did... !

-I've never said anything that would compromise thy plans. Thou knowest that my loyalty is unwavering. But if thou wilt permit me an opinion, master, I think it's Saruman who has thy Ring now, and that the company from Mordor failed in their fight with the Uruk-hai.

Sauron looked at his intimidated servant, deep in thought. Maybe it was too early to launch an attack on Isengard, without knowing the truth. A discrete testing would be more convenient.

-I have a mission for you. -announced the Maia.- And since you've been so interested in participating in the search from the beginning (even when I hadn't commanded you), I think you'll be very pleased. You must ride to Orthanc and tell Saruman that the Dark Lord knows what he keeps in his tower, and that he's willing to claim it by hook or by crook, and that he doesn't even care if he knows it, because he will crush him like an ant. Then we'll observe the reaction of the old man, and draw our conclusions.

The Mouth of Sauron nodded, bowed, and left the pinnacle.

Shortly after, the same trumpets that had echoed in front of Erebor so many times, echoed in front of the ominous tower of Isengard, though the embassy of Mordor wasn't well received there either.  
The citadel boiled with activity and there was too much movement of troops and machinery to feel safe. The famous Uruk-hai were no less impressive than what the lieutenant had imagined, and watching their muscular bodies sculpted with fire and iron, he realized how ridiculous seemed the squat, bony Orcs of his escort.  
The Mouth of Sauron had the unsettling feeling of being caught in a mousetrap.  
Finally, the voice of Saruman deigned to answer them, from a high window in the tower.

-So poorly have I earned the trust and appreciation of the Dark Lord, that he sends emissaries to threaten me before my doors? Haven't I always helped him whenever my scarce resources allowed me? Didn't I help him to find the Shire? –bemoaned the wizard, with a sweet, pained voice, upon hearing the accusations of the lieutenant.

-Scarce resources, thou sayst? That doesn't seem to me, in view of the many troops, battering rams and forges around. - mocked the Mouth of Sauron.- One would rather say that thou art preparing for war, dost thou not?

-Oh! But I'm old and surrounded by enemies. Even the Dark Lord, that I believed to be my protector, now puts into question my loyalty and attacks me too. How could I be anything but cautious?

Upon this, there was a murmur of approval among the Orcs of the escort, who commented in a low voice how judicious and wise was the wizard, and how they would have done the same in his place.  
That voice was like a mellifluous poison, that numbed the senses soft, deliciously. But the Mouth of Sauron had been too long in the world to be charmed by those cheap tricks. He turned to his escort and reprimanded them:

-What happens with you, idiots, can't ye see that he's deluding you!? He has taken the Ring of the master and won't let go of it! Why else would he raise such an army for war? He believes himself indestructible now. He doesn't know how wrong he is!

A black shadow hung then over the pinnacle of Orthanc, and this time the voice of Saruman sounded like thunder from the heights.

-Enough! I will not tolerate such slander in my land! Ambassador from Mordor dost thou call thyself? I don't believe it, I refuse to believe it. Brigands is what ye are, and as such ye will be treated in Isengard!

And then, as if the earth opened in response to the imprecations of the wizard, an earthquake shook the ground beneath their feet. From the many pits around them emerged Uruk-hai warriors, armed to the teeth and on the warpath. The orcs of Mordor, even the largest, shrieked in surprise and retreated a bit.

-You are crazy, Saruman! How dare you to attack a herald of the Dark Lord? -yelled the lieutenant, though his initial disbelief was beginning to become real fear.

-Crazy? We'll see who is crazy at the end of this story, we'll see which of the Lords of Middle-earth is still standing after the war: Sauron the Black or Saruman the White! -the demented laughter of the old one pierced the skies, and the man's horse recoiled aghast.

In that moment, the Uruk-hai pounced on them with swords raised, and the retinue of Mordor fled in disarray. Not even the horse and the wargs that the Orcs rode gave them a great advantage, because they were soon killed by the arrows of the enemy. The Mouth of Sauron rolled on the floor, deprived of mount, and had no choice but to keep running. It seemed that the Uruk-hai didn't plan to kill them, but rather just make them go away, but no one stopped to check it.  
The Orcs of Mordor were left behind, stumbling and bumping, blinded by the light of the Sun, and several of them ended up with some arrow embedded in their legs. For the Orcs of Saruman, instead, daylight seemed to be indifferent.

The lieutenant didn't know for how many miles they had pursued them in this fashion, but when their enemies grew bored of the hunting and returned to Isengard, the southern end of the Misty Mountains loomed in front of them.  
Those were lands of Rohan, dangerous for staying in the open and without mounts, so they all ran to take refuge in a nearby cave, some limping and others almost crawling. Once safe, they could breathe a sigh of relief and think what to do next.  
Dusk was already falling, a light rain dampened the grass and icy air run down from the mountains. The Orcs huddled against each other for warmth, and healed the arrow wounds as best as they could. The lieutenant sat by himself with his head buried in his hands, listening to the soft whispers of his companions. After a while he stood up, and looking sternly at the battered Orcs, he snapped:

-There's no use staying here, waiting for the Rohirrim to hunt us like animals. Ye better lift up your lazy backsides. The road to Mordor is going to be long and dangerous.

But the creatures didn't move, and one of the uruks, the stockiest and blackest of all, twisted his mouth in a mocking gesture.

-The road is going to be long and dangerous for thee, lord lieutenant. We're not going to move from here.

At that time, the Mouth of Sauron lost the ability of the organ that gave him his name to articulate comprehensible words, so stunned was he.

-Ho... How is it that ye stay here? Do ye mean that ye aren't going to return to Mordor!? –he managed to say, once he assimilated the information.

-As thou hearest it. We're not going to return to that stinking hole to be killed by hunger, skinned off, and sent to the front lines of combat as bait. We're fed up with it.

The other Orcs nodded at the words of their leader, and the black lip of the lieutenant trembled with indignation.

-And what do ye intend to do here alone!? Without the master Sauron ye are nothing!

The uruk shrugged.

-We'll look for a good cave to live in, away from other tribes. We the uruks will hunt at night in the nearby woods, while the snaga stay guarding the home and making weapons. Whenever traders pass near the mountains we'll slice out their throats and steal their loot. Then, before dawn, we'll go back to our shelter with the food, the snaga will cook it and we'll hold a feast together. Before we go to sleep we'll lie with them and fuck them until they spit their guts through their mouths. And when night comes we'll start all over again.

Everybody received this speech with joy and approval, and the snaga laughed stupidly, rubbing against their new masters. Everybody but one, the smallest of all, who furrowed his brow upset.

-Oh, but what a touching story! -groaned the lieutenant with sarcasm.- Ye won't last even two days on your own, poor unhappy ones. And the Great Eye is watching you!

-He can watch all he wants. As long as his hand stays in Lugburz, hundreds of miles away, we hardly care about it.

-Ye owe him loyalty, ye are his creatures and only came in this world because of him!

-I came in this world thanks to my mother. It was she who bore me, not the Dark Lord.

Angered, the Mouth of Sauron took out his riding crop and got ready to lash with it the face of that disrespectful Orc. But seeing this gesture, the other stood up and drew their scimitars. His eyes and fangs shone menacingly, as if they saw in him the first of their meals in freedom.  
Defeated and aware of how irreversible was the situation, the man had to retreat.  
But how could he return to Mordor thus, alone and in failure, without a horse, without escort, overcome by Saruman and by his own soldiers? His master would despise him. Moreover, the war against the wizard was imminent now that he had the Ring; his Lord was going to need all his available allies, and he had heard of a very powerful one that lived not far from there. If he returned to the tower accompanied by such magnificent being, his master would receive him in a very different manner, despite his mistakes.  
With this in mind, the Mouth of Sauron made his way northward, with the foot of the Misty Mountains always on his left.

Night had almost fallen, and the uncertain shadow of the Fangorn Forest was outlined on the horizon, when he heard someone trotting behind him. Turning around he saw the little Orc that hadn't been pleased with the uprising; he came running toward him with his short and somewhat crooked legs, and seemed to be out of breath.

-Wait, sir, I'm with thee! -he shouted, and the lieutenant halted until the creature reached him.

-What, don't you want to be free and live in a paradise of abundant food and promiscuity?

The Orc shook his head, without grasping the irony of the question, and when he caught his breath he added:

-I was convinced by all that thou hast said about loyalty, and the Dark Lord and his eye, and serving Mordor. All that.

-Sure... -the Mouth of Sauron grimaced. Of course it wasn't loyalty what had driven the Orc to follow him. He had simply realized that he was the smallest of the group, and therefore the biggest loser if he was left alone with the rest. Often, the worst enemy of an Orc were the other Orcs. However, he didn't express his disbelief; it was useless to humiliate the poor thing.- Alright, you can come with me. But don't cause me trouble or I'll turn you into mincemeat for wargs.

The goblin run happily beside him, although it was hard for him to keep the man's pace.

-Is this the way to Mordor? I thought it was the other direction, but well, during the day I orient myself very poorly.

-We're not going to Mordor yet. Before that I want to go to the mines of Moria to ask help from a powerful creature that lurks there. I know the master Sauron planned to turn to him sooner or later, and he trusted his word of honour. He's a Balrog, a Maia of fire.

-What is a "Maya"? –the lieutenant snorted; of all the orcs of Middle-earth, he had to be followed by the only one who preferred to ask questions instead of grunting.

-The Maiar were among the spirits that shaped the world at the beginning of time. And they will only meet again to sing a second time when the end comes. They were here long before us, and they will be here long after us. –the man's voice took on a somber tone, and for a moment he was silent; the gleam in his eyes seemed to have withdrawn into some dark pit of the old days.- The master Sauron is one of those spirits, didn't you know? Ye are so ignorant!

-Yeah, I guess I'm a bit dumb or "innorant"... No one ever tells us anything. Thou, on the other hand, seemst to know many things, thou sure canst even read.

-Of course I can! I know all the Elvish languages , even those that are no longer spoken in Middle-earth, and almost all the languages of Men. Although there are other, much older, that I have heard but I'm not able to pronounce or understand.

The Orc nodded as if he understood, though his mind was already thinking of other things.

-Is it true that the master Saur... eh... the Dark Lord was the one who created us?

-No, not really. Although he was present then, and ye owe him loyalty all the same.

-It was Melkor who created us?

The Mouth of Sauron stopped short and looked at the creature, surprised.

-How could you possibly know who is Melkor, if you barely knew who is your current master!?

The little goblin shrugged.

-I don't know who is he. But I remember him... It's hard to explain. And I feel something similar when thou art near, but don't know what it is. It happens also to the other Orcs.

The lieutenant shook his head. He was too tired to think about the Vala now, and his feet hurt after walking for hours. He sat on the floor and decided that the most sensible thing would be to eat, sleep, and continue the march at dawn. Darkness had gathered over their heads, and the edge of the forest was very close; for nothing in the world would he go through that grim and accursed forest without anything to light up their way.  
He sent the Orc to find some wood among the first trees that sprouted from Fangorn, while he checked the meager food he had in his bag: enough for a short trip on horseback, but not for a laborious walk back on foot. At least there was (or used to be) a colony of goblins in Moria that could give them something for the road, but having to sink his teeth into the abominable meat they ate those beings, wasn't an encouraging thought for the lieutenant.  
Within minutes, the Orc returned with a bundle of wood, but he came running and quite hectic.

-Sir, sir, thou wilt not believe what happened to me! I was cutting a few branches for the fire, and the tree spanked me!

-You have a lot of imagination. I guess to make up for your lack of intelligence.

-I haven't "inmaginated" it, sir! My arse still stings... -the creature glanced at the forest, very nervous, and suddenly dropped the wood with a sharp shriek.- Trees, the trees are moving towards us!

The Mouth of Sauron squinted and made an effort to peer into the darkness, but his night vision was not as sharp as that of the orc.  
He still remembered the unpleasant incident with the willow in the Old Forest, but he could hardly believe that there were other trees like that around the world, and even less, that they were able to draw their roots from the earth and walk.  
The Orc kept screaming, hysterical, and pulled his sleeve to run for safety, but all he heard in the forest was the creaking of branches and the wind whistling through leaves. Suddenly, he realized that something was wrong; the mass of trees seemed to move no more than any other mass of trees would, and yet, the edge of the forest was now much closer.  
The lieutenant's legs trembled. But by the time he reacted to the pleas of the Orc and regained the mobility of his members, the trees hovered a few feet from them, and yes, definitely they were moving.  
The two unhappy ones ran toward the cliffs of the mountains for shelter, while a mass of branchy giants covered in bark swarmed across the place where they had stopped moments before, leaving behind a trail of destruction and trampled earth.

The lieutenant reached the rocks before the goblin, but when he tried to climb them, he realized that the squat body and long arms of the creature had certain uses that favoured them against the more proportioned members of Men.  
The tree monsters had already noticed them and hurled shouts of anger, that sounded like the tumult of a thousand logs rolling down a hill. Soon they began to hurl other things beside shouts. More specifically, giant blocks of stone that they tore from the ground itself and sent through the airs with less effort than if they were apples.  
In that moment, the Mouth of Sauron was a perfect target: a dark figure, trying to climb a pale wall. One of the projectiles hit the ridge above his head and dislodged some stones that, were it not for his helmet, would have caused him quite the damage. A second block hit on his left, inches away. Surely, the third hit would be on target.  
Right then, a claw closed around his wrist, and a skinny arm lifted him to the top of the cliff and took him to the other side of the wall, safe from the giants. The furious roar echoed through the rocks, and for a moment both feared that the long root fingers would appear over their hiding and would tear them apart.  
Fortunately, the monsters must have had more urgent things to take care of, and after throwing a few more blocks against the mountains as warning, they went away.  
Once the calm returned and they recovered from the shock, the Mouth of Sauron noticed that the little Orc had embraced him in panick and was shaking up and down. He separated from him a bit embarrassed, and only then realized that his ankle ached horribly and the hem of his robe was stained with blood. Some of the splinters torn from the wall must had reached him, and the cut had an ugly look.  
The goblin bent over the wound, and after a thorough inspection, he proceeded to heal it with a liquid that burned like fire and a few bandages that he was carrying. After all, the pathetic being was going to be useful. Though his habit of sucking the blood that stained his fingers made the man's stomach churn a little.

-What were those living trees, sir? -he murmured, still with fear in his voice.

-No idea. But I think they were going to Isengard. Now I don't doubt any longer that Saruman has the Ring in his possession and is using it to call the strangest creatures to his service.

-They don't want us anywhere, right? Are we so disliked? -laughed the Orc through his teeth.- I hope they don't catch the boys in their cave. I mean, some of them were pure dung, but there were good lads also. Well, at least we won't have to cross that stinky forest now; a bit more, and the stinky forest would have crossed us instead.

The lieutenant smiled. But with or without stinking forest in the middle, the march of the following days was quite arduous. Not just because of the scarce food and restless sleep in the open, but also because the injured ankle of the man caused him continuous pain and lameness. The Orc, on his part, suffered the ravages of the Sun on his skin, though by nightfall he revived and at least could hunt some animals and find wood.  
It was noon on the fourth day since they parted from the rest, and the entrance to Moria was already very close, when the Mouth of Sauron had to sit exhausted to rest his aching body. His guts groaned, and never before had he regretted so much not having some opium at hand. As it came to be his custom in the last days, he sent the Orc to fetch water and firewood in the nearby slopes, to at least be able to cook their remaining spoils. The summit of the Silvertine rose above their heads, giving off pale ice twinkles. The snows of last Winter still covered much of the mountains.  
Half an hour later, the goblin was still missing, and the Mouth of Sauron began to suspect that he had finally decided to run away and join their kin in the mines, when the creature returned at full speed and without any log. But before his master could scold him, the Orc asked in a choked voice:

-My lord, how looks that Boldrog that we came for?

-It's Balrog! And his appearance is that of a large fire demon with a flaming whip.

The Orc looked down.

-I think I've found him.

The lieutenant had a bad feeling. And indeed, after following the Orc to the appointed place, he also found him.  
At the foot of the mountain, in the middle of a crater cracked by a precipitous fall, lay the mighty body, but his fire was extinguished forever. A layer of snow covered him as a shroud; an ironic adornment from the summit for a being that had burned with the primal flame. Now not even the snowflakes melted upon contact with his skin, a skin that could have melted rocks in the old days.  
The man knelt before the figure, dejected.

-And thus ends the last of the Balrogs! Won't anything remain of us? Just a hole in the ground, the icy mantle of death over our bones, and the dust, and then nothing? –he cried to the heavens, as if he rebuked someone beyond the spheres of the world.

For several minutes the lieutenant stayed so, motionless, his eyes fixed on the ground. The Orc stirred unnerved, and tried to touch the man to bring him out of his trance, but upon seeing the melancholy in his face, he flinched.  
Finally, the man stood up and shook the dust from his robe.

-To the same abyss run we all, big and small. If even immortals can die so easily, what will become of us? -he whispered, and then the Orc dared to speak:

-Well, sir, if we all run into the same abyss, what is the problem? The worst thing would be staying here alone, right?

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the Mouth of Sauron laughed. Laughed heartily, as he hadn't laughed for a long time.

-That's the most intelligent thing I've heard in quite a while. It's funny that it had to be said by you precisely. -and then he added, with a sigh:- Well, I wish I could give him the proper burial that a Maia deserves, but I suppose that for an immortal spirit, what we do with his body after death is of little concern.

-Can we eat him then?

-Say something like that again, and you'll be the one that ends up in the pot! I assure you I will do it; I've eaten worse things. –threatened the lieutenant, flicking him.

He turned one last time to the extinct Balrog, nodded a farewell, and retraced his steps, followed by the inseparable goblin.  
Their mission thwarted so miserably, the only thing left to do was approaching Moria for supplies, and perhaps some information about what had happened in the mountains.  
The mine Orcs were reluctant to talk to them and didn't let them come inside; no doubt they had become very distrustful after the death of their protector. Nonetheless, they gave them enough food for the trip back, and explained to them that a couple of months ago they had suffered an unexpected attack in his own fortress. An old man with a long beard and a staff, certainly a wizard, had burst in there with a strange company, and had killed Durin's Bane.  
The Mouth of Sauron thought about this story. Quite possibly, Saruman planned to become the new Dark Lord, and therefore wanted to destroy one by one all the allies of his master.  
Although the Nazgûl had said something about another wizard... But who could trust them? They were but shadows, that saw shadows in a dimmed world.  
Thanking the Orcs, the lieutenant made his way back to Mordor. Above everything, he wanted to spend the night as far as possible from that cursed realm of Lórien, and his companion couldn't agree more.

-Elves! -he grumbled, while roasting an unnamable creature for dinner. And he spat with disgust.- The beings most unpleasant for sight that one can find! And they stink.

-So the Elves stink, huh? And have you ever smelled yourself? –mocked the man, sinking his teeth into something that he didn't want to examine too closely. The Orc frowned and stuck his nose under his armpit.

-I don't stink! I smell of manliness, which is different. And if someone doesn't like that smell, well, that lad has a serious problem. Also, Elves are ugly, and I'm not. All the uruks think I'm cute and smell good, they say.

-They say that so you spread your legs for them, stupid. Also, I thought ye preferred Elves rather than those of your own kind.

-Hoi, sir! How is it, since we are Orcs we can't like each other? No one is surprised if a toad likes a toad, or a pig likes a pig. But when it comes to us, nay, an Orc has to hate the rest of the Orcs! An Orc has to prefer the perfumed arse of a _golug_ rather than a good uruk cock! Really, sir, thou art very "perdujiced".

-I think what you mean is "prejudiced". Anyway, you shouldn't criticize the _golugs_ so much. I've heard that Orcs were Elves in older times, corrupted by the power of Melkor, so some of their blood runs through your veins as well.

Upon this, the goblin's jaw dropped in astonishment, with some remains of meat still stuck in his fangs. And the next second, his eyes flashed with wrath.

-That's not true, take it back at once! Say that thou hast made it up!

-That's what I've always heard.

-No, it's a lie! -the creature began to growl like an angry beast and his claw brushed the hilt of his knife.

The lieutenant understood it was not a good idea to antagonize the creature, his only help in the middle of the plain, and quickly reassured him.

-Do not take it like that, they are just legends. It may well be the opposite. Maybe Elves are corruptions of Orcs, perhaps the starlight changed them and gave them their evil powers of sorcery.

The other nodded, satisfied with this answer, and became calm again.

That night, the Mouth of Sauron couldn't sleep. The image of the dead Balrog reappeared in his mind every time he closed his eyes.  
For a long time the shadow of death had haunted him day and night, it chased him, each moment closer, its icy fingers were stretching, almost touching him. His coughing fits weren't due to a simple cold, how much time would be left for him? An eternity had not been enough to serve his master as he should. Yes, his master Sauron would dwell in Middle-earth, during all the ages of the world, but soon he wouldn't be there anymore.  
He tossed several times in his makeshift bed, but failed to dispel the uncertainty. A few feet away, the little Orc placidly slept, curled around himself.

"Such peace of mind! Even though his race has an uncanny ability to die in the most gratuitous ways". -he said to himself with envy, and crawled on the floor to watch him closely – "Yes, one could almost say that Eru is eager to take them to the other side, to end their misery as soon as possible. Much has he been delayed with me, but I feel him now, calling at the door. Whatever, if our end is really approaching, at least I could... Just one more time, before all is over. One more time: quick and vulgar and without love, without the love that I will never know. What does it matter? But without prejudices; after all, I never had any. –and he ran his tongue over his black lips.

Old vices never died at all.  
He turned the body until leaving it on his back and opened the dirty shirt: underneath he found nothing but skin and marked bones, though with a soft and rather round belly.

"Better not look at him too much. Let's finish as soon as possible!"

But while he finished undressing him, the poor goblin awoke.

-My lord...? -he whispered, still sleepy and confused, but the man silenced him.

-Hush! Do not worry, I won't hurt you. Quite on the contrary.

And since he saw no signs of genuine opposition or rejection in the creature, he went forward.  
The Orc let out a shriek of wounded animal and opened his eyes wide when he felt how they entered him, but nonetheless remained still, as if he didn't understand yet what they were doing to him. This was the moment the lieutenant liked most, when those wretches, always aggressive and quarrelsome, turned suddenly vulnerable and discovered how pain, to which they were so used, gradually transformed into pleasure, which they barely knew.  
The goblin emitted faint, indistinct sounds with each thrust, and he sunk his claws on the other's back, though the Mouth of Sauron didn't notice the scratches until much later. After a few minutes, the creature shuddered, closed his eyes and let out a yelp, sharper than the rest. And his joy during those brief seconds of climax was no less than that of the most beloved among the children of Eru; their masters could have stolen everything from those of his race, but that they had never been able to take from them, if only that, that last piece of nature rebelling against the misery of their lives.  
It still took some more time for the man to finish. Once satisfied, he collapsed on the smaller body and let out a sigh.

-This is the last time I do this. -he gasped. And the Orc added with a whimper:

-Pity. It was my first time instead.

The next morning, the lieutenant awoke with his partner beside, embracing him as a tick in search for warmth. He almost felt sorry. It was clear that the little thing was younger than he had thought at first, and somehow, he had stolen his innocence (if such a word could be applied to his race).

During the rest of the way, they barely spoke to each other, although the man was aware of the longing sideway glances that the Orc shot at him from time to time.  
On the third day of march from Moria, a general malaise seized the man, and by dusk a violent fever began to burn in his forehead, while frost gripped his members. If the illness was caused by an infection from the wound in his ankle, or by the cold from the mountains, or by his gloomy thoughts, or simply the dreaded end had arrived before he expected, he did not know.  
The Orc became very nervous and brought him snow from the slopes to lower his fever and gave him plenty of water, but overnight the man's condition worsened.  
The next day was a day without dawn. The world had awakened under a twilight tinge, though he was no longer able to distinguish the darkness of the skies from the darkness of his own eyes, that dulled for moments. An ominous cloud stretched from the east, from Mordor; decisive events were taking place, and he wasn't there with his master, where duty called for him. So, drawing strenght from weakness, the lieutenant forced himself to move on.  
The green fields of Rohan already looked at them beyond the edge of the mountains, and they were crossing the plains, now desert, where had grown the Fangorn Forest, when the Mouth of Sauron definitely lost consciousness and fell to the ground as if dead.

-Nay, nay, nay, sir, don't do this to me! –bemoaned the Orc, circling the body in distress.- How am I going to return to Mordor now, if I don't know the way!? Sir, awake, dammit! Is this how thou thankest me after having fucked me!? Cursed be all lords! -he snapped, kicking him.

But not even so he moved. Then the Orc heard in the distance a familiar and hopeful sound, and pointed his ears like a cat on the prowl to receive it better. Yes, it was an unmistakable sound.

When the lieutenant came out of his trance and the world stopped spinning blurred before his eyes, the first thing he saw was the Orc standing in front of him, smiling with all his sharp teeth, and lying beside on the ground, was the bulk of a black horse.

-Look the gift I brought thee! -he announced, pointing to the animal.

The man rubbed his temples, dizzy. After the crisis, the disease seemed to be subsiding, and he felt much better.

-And what would I want a dead horse for? -he muttered.- I'm not _that_ hungry.

-It's not dead, sir. I've only set it to sleep with a poisoned dart, and it will wake up in a while. Now we have a mount. And look, it's huge and very fast. Don't they say that the horses of these lands are the best?

A ray of hope broke through the spirit of the man at these words. Everything would be much easier now, and in about three days they could cross the Morannon if they pressed the beast to the maximum. The kind gesture of the Orc, though selfish, was still a rarity among his people, and all the more moving because of this.  
He stood up to take a closer look at the animal, and then he realized that his robe was covered with earth and that he wasn't in the same place where he had fainted.

-I guess you've dragged me across the ground to take me to the horse, didn't you?

-Aye, sir. At first I tried to drag the horse to thee. But after a while I realized it was too heavy and thought it would be easier the other way around.

-An Orc with a brain, so I see... -he said wryly.- And perchance you haven't stolen anything from me while I slept, right?

The black mouth curved into a sly half-smile, and the Orc's cheeks flushed. Timidly, he took a brooch with a large emerald from his leggings, and handed it back. An honest Orc was even harder to find than an Orc with a brain; usually, both qualities were mutually exclusive.  
Fixed this issue, the lieutenant turned his full attention to the horse, whose stomach rose and fell with a heavy breath. The beasts of Rohan were indomitable, as a general rule, and didn't tolerate any other rider but the pale men of those lands. But the Mouth of Sauron had not spent so many centuries serving a powerful sorcerer and necromancer without learning a few spells.  
At least, he had one appropriate for the occasion.  
Bending over the sleeping animal, he rested the index finger of his left hand on its closed eyelid, his right hand on its chest, and poured a long string of verses in the Black Speech inside its ear. The Orc groaned and lowered his ears, as if the words hurt him.  
When the horse woke up, it was not the same. Its strong will had broken to conform to the wishes of its new master. Behind its eyes burned an otherwordly flame, and its nostrils emitted sulfide fumes. The head, noble and beautiful before, seemed to be disfigured in an imperceptible but disturbing way; suddenly it bore a resemblance to the skull that covered the head of the lieutenant.  
The man mounted on him with a jump, eager to continue the journey before his disease got worse again.  
But his companion flatly refused to ride on the beast.

-Come on, don't tell me that you cannot sit down still! I was very gentle with you. -he said, mockingly.

-It's not that. It's just... I don't like the look of that horse. I don't like its eyes... Go ahead of me, and I will follow thee running.

The lieutenant nodded, hiding his smile, and whipping the horse he set off toward the horizon like a shooting star. After a few minutes, he stopped short and looked back: the Orc was a black spot that ran with difficulty in the distance, and at last when his short legs failed him, he sat on the ground defeated. The man laughed. It was just what he had hoped, but he wanted the stubborn goblin to check it himself. He went back to him, picked him up in his arms and forced him to sit behind, ignoring his complaints.

-Little you know the horses of Rohan if you think you can follow them with your feet, or even with your sight. Come here, you fool! I prefer to carry you as a burden rather than having to keep an eye on you at all times.

For three days, the Mouth of Sauron rode with a pair of long, bony arms around his waist. During the day, they clung to him for fear of falling from the horse. And at night they embraced him again when the Orc thought him asleep.  
Thus he crossed the plains of Rohan, and great was his surprise upon discovering Mordor troops entering them from the Northeast, and later, the island of Cair Andros in the river Anduin completely taken. All of this sped up much their journey, but the soldiers couldn't give them but vague news about a war in Gondor. Spurred by concern, the man didn't allow himself to fall prey to fever again.

Back in Barad-dûr, he took his new trusty horse to the stables and ordered that it was granted the greatest attention. No one dared to disobey, lest that terrifying animal ripped them an arm if they didn't treat it well.  
His peculiar traveling companion also got ready to return to his barracks, with the other snaga, but before that, the lieutenant called him and said:

-You've been good, little fellow. Here, take this. It's a gift, so everybody knows that you have my favour. –then he unclasped the emerald brooch of his robe, and put it in the claw of the stunned goblin.– I don't know if your race is able to appreciate beautiful things, but if not, well, you can always sell it and buy beer or new weapons. Go now, and be careful with those uruks in heat.

He patted him on the head with affection, and the creature muttered a faltering "thanks". Then he ran to meet his kin and tell them, with all sorts of fanciful exaggerations, the adventure he had just lived with a high command of the tower.  
The man realized then that he had never asked him his name. But anyway, what did that matter when he didn't even remember his own?

Sauron received his lieutenant with surprising calm and indifference for the delay, and heard his story. The news about the Balrog's death troubled him, but before the slightest feeling surfaced in him, he buried it under other thoughts related to the present war. He was silent all the while, but when the man confessed his fears about Saruman and the Ring, he let out a grim laugh:

-Saruman you say? That old fool is finished, sunk in the deepest hole in which a Maia may fall. Oh, no, Saruman does not have my Ring! And the trees ye saw marching towards Isengard didn't come to his aid, but to totally ruin his land. Now he's a prisoner in his own tower, the poor idiot! The hobbits that his troops captured were just a fake decoy to distract us, while the Ring was placed in the hands of a more powerful one, though no less unworthy of it. I've seen him, yes. I looked into the palantír, and there he was, staring back at me. A hateful, insulting face, gray eyes trying to bore through my Eye. And he showed it to me, the sword, the sword of my humiliation! And it was reforged, burning with a flame that gnawed me within. Is it possible to feel pain in a limb that has been lost? I felt it on the finger that is missing in my left hand. There was Narsil, and there he was: the heir of Isildur! But my Ring has turned him too proud and too stupid if he thinks he can show it to me with no consequences. My Ring is faithful to me alone, and it will be his undoing in the end. Thus I'm going to put an end to his kingdom even before he takes possession of the throne. And him, that pretentious upstart, I will send to the same cold grave that swallowed all the other kings of his line!

Sauron laughed again, and his lieutenant felt embarrassed. He never said anything pertinent, so it seemed, and his master was always two steps ahead of him. But thus was his master, the most subtle and cunning of all the lords of Middle-earth. He had no doubt that the assault on Minas Tirith would be a child's play.

And so it seemed also to Sauron at first.  
He had followed the development of the battles from the palantír and through his messengers, and at that time, the city of Minas Tirith was a stone island about to collapse into a river of lava.  
At dusk, the fields of Gondor blossomed with a thousand torches, and the explosions of projectiles flashed for a second as wisps of faint blue-greenish hues. The sight from the pinnacle of Barad-dûr was of a sinister beauty.  
Shortly before dawn, Grond, the new hammer of the underworld, lived up to its name breaking down the gates of the city. And when Sauron turned his thoughts to the palantír of the steward, he could only see flames and two burned hands, a sign that his patient torture upon the man's mind had finally paid off.  
But then everything went wrong. The riders of Rohan appeared as out of nowhere, and from the banks of the Anduin rose a haze of black sails that didn't bring allies, but more enemies. In front of them marched the heir of Isildur, with a star, more abominable than those of Varda, on his forehead, and the cursed sword up high.  
Sauron threw the palantír to the floor with a scream of rage. At that time, one of the Nazgûl and his lieutenant stormed in the pinnacle, and the man's face had a grim look on it. They came to confirm what the Maia had suspected already, when one of his nine rings had shone for a moment and then was put out like a blown candle.  
The Witch King had paid his toll at last, after a life longer than his share and more evil than could be told. Nobody cried for him, and the less disheartened by being rid of his chains, was the Witch King himself, but for all the servants of Mordor it was a heavy blow and the blackest of omens. Sauron showed no emotion.

-The fall of a single Nazgûl is no cause for despair. There are still other eight. –he replied, with a strangely cold and impersonal voice.- And it's no reason to abandon the battlefield. We must go forward, even if it means death to the last Orc, Easterling and Southron. What are they for me, what are they for Mordor compared with the objective at hand? My Ring is in the midst of that battle. As soon as I recover it everything will change. Soon, very soon, the Doors of Night will open again, and He will reunite with me, and his kingdom will be eternal. But to accomplish this, I need the Ring, which that insolent Dúnadan wears on his finger right now. I can almost perceive it, so close it is! Yes, the Dúnadan will fall under the whip of Gothmog, like so many other princes, mightier than him, fell before.

The lieutenant's eyes were veiled behind a wet curtain, and he muttered:

-My Lord... Gothmog is dead, dost thou not remember?

The eye of Sauron looked at him impassively.

-Dead? Don't be foolish! Gothmog is out there right now, in front of the troops of Minas Morgul.

-But that's not the real Gothmog. He's just a common Orc who used to be in charge of the armoury. -the lieutenant's voice trembled, and a watery trail run down under his helmet to his mouth.

Sauron made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

-You're once more narcotized with opium! I don't want to hear any more nonsense. Send out my orders to the captains.

The Nazgûl gave a nod and left without a word, but the man fell to his knees and wept bitterly, ignored by his master.  
Something had broken in the Maia, something precious and vital, but difficult to perceive with the naked eye. He had been cracked in two for too long.

The battle was a complete defeat, and a couple of days later more disturbing news came to Barad-dûr.  
The uproar that rose on the lower floors was so great, that Sauron himself came down, and absolute silence ensued. One of the burly guards of the gate was grabbing a sour-faced Orc by the arm, a captain apparently, that clung to a package wrapped in rags.  
The Maia ordered everyone out, except the guard and the newcomer.

-Who are you and what do you bring in there?

\- My name is Shagrat, my Lord, and this is what I bring. -the Orc unwrapped the package and showed him a particularly small mail-shirt, sword and cloak.

Sauron hissed in pain upon touching them; some of those objects contained the corrosive magic of Elves. He quickly left them on a nearby table.

-And what should I suppose this means? Have ye captured a dwarf? A child? My time is very valuable, and those that waste it pay dearly for every second!

-My Lord, these objects belonged to a spy captured in Cirith Ungol four days ago. We found him unconscious because of Shelob's poison, and took him to the tower. But he wasn't a dwarf, although he was quite small.

-A hobbit! The enemy has several at its service and uses them for these thankless and suicide tasks, such as espionage. And precisely in Cirith Ungol! –he laughed with irony.- I see that they don't value the lives of these beings too much... Well, my interest in hobbits has declined considerably since I discovered who has my Ring in reality, but however, the incursion of spies in my land is not indifferent for me. Where's the prisoner now? I would like to... "interrogate him". - Sauron clenched his fists, and the clank of the knuckles upon creaking, bothered the Orcs.

But at this question, Shagrat hesitated and gave no answer. The guard hit him in the stomach to get the words out of him:

-Answer the Lord, treacherous rat! Tell him everything you've told us!

The other Orc growled and bared his teeth, threatening to bite if he touched him again.  
But then he felt the Eye boring its way into his head.

It was better to confess at once, rather than having to endure that insufferable violation once more.

-The prisoner escaped. We don't have him, my Lord.

-How is that possible!? How can a prisoner escape from the tower of Cirith Ungol, with hundreds of guards around, and the Two Watchers of the gate, and the Nazgûl flying up in the air!?

Shagrat lowered his head and rubbed his long arms as if he was cold.

-We... Well, my Lord... There was another subject that we couldn't catch. He had wounded the spider and then left his partner abandoned. But... But he came back and... well, he must have rescued him. I think he was a mighty Elven warrior, that's what one of my boys said, although I didn't see him.

-Oh, yes, of course he must have been a mighty Elven warrior if he was capable of such a feat! It must have been Fingolfin himself, or Maedhros wielding a sword with one hand better than others with two, or perhaps it was Eärendil in his flying ship that has come down to earth to sneak into my towers, isn't it? –Sauron's voice dropped in tone until becoming the growl of a volcano before eruption. The Orc squinted confused, and nodded.

-Yes, that was him. The last one thou hast said, my Lord. -obviously, he had never heard of any of those heroes from ancient days.

The patience of the Maia was then exhausted, and with a sudden jerk of his spirit he pulled down the Orc's defenses, opened his mind wide open, and his Eye burned him inside, to the most intimate and hidden recesses of his being.  
The wretch fell to the floor and squirmed in such agony, that he had no strenght left to scream.

-I'm watching everything, Shagrat. -whispered the Eye.- Everything you're hiding from me, all the half-truths that you don't want to confess whole, all the faults you have committed and the secrets you wanted to take to the grave, but that will live now forever in my memory. And yet, although I know it all already, I want to hear it from your own lips to feel your humiliation. False, unloyal worm!

The guard laughed sadistically upon hearing the sobs of the captain. It was extremely difficult to make an Orc cry, even a small one, but Sauron never failed.  
When Shagrat recovered from his torment, he stood on shaky legs and finally spat the truth, bitter as bile.

-There was a fight in the tower. Gorbag and his company had come up from Minas Morgul and found the prisoner at the same time as us. They insisted on entering the tower, but they didn't seem to want to follow orders, and we ended up coming to blows because of that chain mail. I tried that thy wishes were respected, my Lord. I wanted to bring thee the prisoner intact, as thou hast ordered, but Gorbag didn't listen. The slaughter was complete... no wonder that the prisoner and his partner escaped without much trouble.

-Mmph! The slaughter was complete, but nonetheless here we have this swine, my Lord. The only survivor, how curious! -said the guard.

-Shut up, you purulent sack, what do you know about anything!? -snapped the captain, in the verge of a meltdown.- I didn't betray anyone, it was Gorbag who betrayed me! I didn't even expect it. He was quite the troublemaker, but I never thought he could do this to me. We were even planning to go live together, so I don't understand how...

-Aha! So planning to elope with your sweetheart, weren't you, Shagrat ?-the guard let out another loud laugh.- Thou seest what a good piece we have here, my Lord. A traitor, and deserter as well. Or are you going to deny it now? Nobody is surprised that Gorbag tried to stab you in the back, pig. How long had you been stabbing him in the arse?

Shagrat clenched his teeth, narrowed his eyes until they became two flaming slits, and suddenly pounced on the guard with murderous rage.

-Don't talk about him like that, you cursed ulcer with legs! When I'm finished with you, you'll be pissing blood and shitting teeth for a month!

The two creatures rolled on the floor tangled up in a confusion of claws and fangs.  
Sauron felt disgusted. That was the spirit of current times, the utter degeneration of values and loyalty, the dissolution of all discipline in the tar pit of rebellion and disorder. Why hadn't happened the same to Melkor? The Orcs of Angband had feared the Vala, of course, and he had often tormented them, as much or even more than him. And yet, in some strange way, his troops _loved_ him. When Melkor passed between them, with head high and without deigning to look at them, the eyes of the creatures lit up, and a wave of adoration ran through them at the same time and moved their spirits towards him, with a single desire, with a shared will. Melkor didn't need to worry about discipline, nor about devising careful plans or hierarchical schemes. Melkor could say one thing and do the opposite the next moment, and it didn't matter, because his troops always breathed and throbbed at the same pace as him. The Orcs of Angband didn't dream of escaping his master. The Orcs of Angband dreamed of the day when his master would notice them, and look at them for an instant, if only with indifference.  
And yet he, that constantly watched them, that had refined the art of control to its ultimate consequences, that had established methods to survey everything, from the most important to the most insignificant detail of their lives, he, couldn't prevent rebellion from breaking out in his realm at every second, in the most insignificant heart and in the most important fortress.  
After all, Melkor was somehow the father of them all, but he, Sauron, he was nothing for them. A slave master, as Gothmog had aptly named him once.  
The real Gothmog.  
Then, realizing the dangerous path he was taking, the Maia quickly banished that moment of clarity, and turned back to the present situation.  
The two Orcs were still joined in their hate embrace, and Sauron separated them by crashing each one against opposite walls. Then he stood above the culprit, Shagrat, that coughed miserably and with his face full of blood.

-I suppose you understand the gravity of what you have done and know the punishment in such cases. Now you have the option to repent and perhaps soften a little your execution. Do you repent?

But the creature, knowing that he was already finished, simply spat some blood on the floor, with contempt.

-I regret having had to kill Gorbag . The poor fool! This wasn't how I wanted things to end between us. I just wanted everything to be like in old times. Bah!

-Fine. In that case, you won't be executed by the sword, but locked in a dark pit and condemned to die of hunger and thirst. Thus you will have time to think better what has been your real fault, and maybe you will even feel a twinge of guilt for having defrauded your Lord before your life is quenched. -and taking him by the neck, the Maia brought him to his feet, and pushed him towards the guard, so that he was chained and led to his prison.

-Thanks, "my Lord". -said the culprit before being dragged out.- I see the information that I have brought is to thy liking, since thou hast rewarded me with death. And that's the best reward one can expect nowadays in Mordor.

Sauron clenched his teeth, irritated. Even then, he saw a glint of defiance in the eyes of the captain.

Four days had passed since the spy was caught, and no one, absolutely no one had informed him so far. Probably the Nazgûl guarding the pass of Cirith Ungol had already mobilized the necessary troops for the search, but why hadn't he told him what happened at once? So weak and damaged was his bond with even his own Ringwraiths? And where could be that tiny intruder now?  
Sauron traced the paths of Mordor from the palantír, but didn't find him. And soon, a much more relevant event caught his attention and made him forget the insignificant hobbit.  
The heir of Isildur had succumbed to the power of the Ring even faster than his predecessor, and in his proud folly, dared to challenge Mordor directly. His army, then encamped before the Morannon, was ridiculous.  
But Sauron knew well how ridiculous turned the Men when they believed themselves powerful. Ar-Pharazôn had also dared to camp in front of his gates, with a much larger army, and his fall had been spectacular. But this time he didn't even need to rely on cunning, this time it was enough to extend a thumb to crush them all.  
Foolish petty king! He wore on his chest a green stone quite familiar for the Maia, a stone come from the hands of Celebrimbor, that formerly had belonged to Galadriel. If the Dúnadan had known how that Elf had fallen into his trap of seduction, how those same hands had trembled from pleasure upon touching him, maybe he wouldn't have hung around his neck such fateful symbol.  
And his Ring was so close... ! Now he felt it, yes. He felt it as in old times, when it still belonged to him. It throbbed inside of him, warm, tempting, as a presence that flowed through his body, from his head to the tip of his missing finger. His life, his precious.  
Almost like the energy of his master when he... But it was better not to think about those things.

The day that Sauron called his lieutenant to entrust him with the most important mission of all, the Maia vibrated with power and exaltation. And yet, despite all the intensity emanating from his body, the man had the feeling that his master was far away, as if he faded, as if he vanished, as if he was departing. A twinge of uneasiness made him shudder, but he didn't know why.  
His master wanted him to welcome the invaders as herald of Mordor and show them the spy's belongings. Just as a last stroke of sadism to demoralize them completely, before the gates opened wide and the hordes of the Black Land swallowed them. And later, when the battle was over and crows had descended upon carrion, he, the Mouth of Sauron, his most loyal servant, would have the honour of picking up the Ring and bring it in person to his master.

"Then he will love me" thought the man as he rode across the plain of Gorgoroth.  
The eye of the universe was laid on him, the whole world gravitated around that decisive moment, the moment that marked the end of his master's concern and the beginning of a new golden era. But if it was so, why did he feel that void, that restlessness inside?

Sauron gazed from his pinnacle at the embassy that rode towards the horizon, and then the black mass of his armies going through the gates like a flooded river breaking a dam. An unnatural silence had settled over all the land around.  
And he waited. And the throbbing of the Ring shuddered him once, and then again, and then a third time. A red glow illuminated the pinnacle from the west, and in his mind blinked an image of Melkor, naked besides a small window and bathed in a similar light that had also come from the west, a long, long time ago, in days forgotten.  
And when he looked out to see if twilight had come that day before its hour, his eye saw it all clear, clearer than it had seen in whole ages. A column of smoke was rising from Orodruin and became lost in the heights, among the mantle of black clouds, lighting up the dome with flashings the colour of blood. And there on the slopes, between rivers of lava that descended from the crater, two tiny figures rested as if dead, the most insignificant figures one could imagine.

The veil was lifted for Sauron, and he finally understood everything.  
He had found the fissure, the failure in his master plan. And the intricate web of delusions and illusions that he had woven around him fell apart as corroded by acid.  
A pain impossible to describe made the Maia scream, and the agonized squeal of the eight Nazgûl answered him from above. The iron armour burned him, melted itself, incandescent, around him, and Sauron tore it from him piece by piece. He bared every inch of burnt, consumed and tortured skin, until he was left naked. And then the other armour that protected him, his tower, also came down with a roar that reverberated throughout the land. The Maia plunged into the void and it seemed to him that he fell very slowly, during entire years. His mutilated body disintegrated into a spasm of pain, but he still struggled to cling to a body, whatever it was. And as he fell, he mutated into each of the shapes that he had once adopted throughout his existence in Arda. He turned into bat, and snake, and large wolf. He was again Annatar, and Tar-Mairon and Aulë's apprentice. And finally, when he hit the pile of rubble to which Barad-dûr had been reduced, he regained his true form, the one he had in Angband with Melkor, the one he had always felt like his own. But now he was as small and fragile as a mortal, perhaps even a little more.  
Sauron remained so for a while, shivering completely naked upon the ruin of his pinnacle, and looking around, afraid, to a world that turned gray and pale.  
Then he heard a cough that came from below, and saw his lieutenant climbing and crawling through the rubble to meet him. He left behind a trail of blood that flowed from his abdomen, from what seemed to be the piercing of an eagle's claw. But if he was dying because of this injury or otherwise, Sauron didn't know.  
The Maia extended his arms towards him, in a vain attempt to help him climb.

-This is coming to its end, master. But I won't say it's a bitter end, because at least I could contemplate thee one last time, just as I remembered thee. –said the man, almost inaudibly.

Sauron took his hand, and held him tightly in his lap to console him, to console himself. The frail body trembled in his arms as warmth left it gradually. But the Mouth of Sauron smiled, looking into the eyes of his master, that had recovered the brightness of reason, even if they were misted by infinite sorrow.

-Didst thou know? Lately I had thought often about the end, but of all the deaths that I could have imagined, this one in thy lap is the most beautiful by far. -and he raised a hand with difficulty to caress him; Sauron took it among his and placed it against his cheek, cold skin with cold skin. And yet the stroke felt very warm.- What will happen to me now, master? Thou hast sung in the first Music, thou mustest have seen it. Is it true that Eru welcomes us, Men, in his bosom?

Sauron didn't know. But that wasn't what he had to tell his servant in that moment. Not then.

-Yes, it is true. And after death there is no more pain for you, only a golden happiness that not even the gods know. That's why they envy you, because ye are the most beloved children of the Creator, all of you without exception.

-But evil men, does Eru welcome them as well? –he muttered with a lump in his throat, and his eyes became veiled, wet.

-You were never evil, my little servant. You have been loyal and honest and devoted. Is that evil perchance? You have just done my will. And I have done the will of Melkor. And Melkor has completed the designs for which Ilúvatar created him. How could Eru be angry with you? -and Sauron pressed him closer against his breast, until the man could hear his heart beating. Tears dampened the skin of the Maia, and yet, the Mouth of Sauron felt content.

-I wish I could follow thee, master. But I guess that's not possible.

-No. Now we must go our own separate ways. Though maybe we'll meet once more, when the world is new again. But you've followed me for a long time. Tell me, have you ever regretted entering in my service?

-Not a single day of my life.

-Is there anything you want to ask me for, before our farewell?

-Just one thing, master.

And Sauron nodded, understanding.  
Carefully, he removed the bone helmet from his head, and threw it against the rocks. The helmet, which had endured three ages, broke in this moment. Then he looked at the face of his servant, not so different from the skull after so many years hidden behind it. His eyeballs appeared glazed and were barely able to discern what happened around him. The shriveled skin was mottled by purple spots, which gradually faded under the uniform pallor of death. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.  
The Maia thought he was very beautiful, and stroked him gently. He bent over him, and black lips parted to receive pale lips. The two lieutenants, master and servant, merged into a kiss and an embrace that said everything without saying anything. The man clung to that moment with strenghts that already failed him, he gave himself desperately to the Maia, and felt his love entering him, reflecting as in a mirror his own.  
Little by little, his limbs relaxed, he loosened the embrace, and finally, with a sigh of boundless joy, the man's soul left his body and departed to paths that nobody knew. All he had desired during the long centuries of his life, he achieved in a few seconds before his death, and he departed in bliss.  
It was the first time that Sauron experienced death, real death, from close. And in it he found a peace and a sense of irreversibility that he had never felt before in other creatures.  
He kissed the man's forehead, and then his closed eyelids.

-Farewell, my servant, my shadow, my mouth, my dear man. The only one of the Children of Ilúvatar that ever mattered to me. I wish I could give you a proper burial, I wish I could have given you just half of what you gave me.

He left the body upon the rocks, his head still resting on his lap, as strenght was also beginning to abandon him. He was cracked in two, in more than one sense, and the flesh that enveloped him would soon vanish into nothingness.  
The sun sank into the horizon and its reddish glow melted with the flames of Mount Doom. Up in the sky, the ash clouds began to open, and the first stars blinked as points of ice. Sauron cast a glance around, upon the ruin of Mordor. Debris, toppled walls and towers, open pits and crushed machines, a myriad of dead bodies dotting the desolate plains.  
Then a little farther, he saw the lame Orc who had been in charge of the breeding chambers. Apparently, he had managed to escape the tower before it collapsed and now was gathering around him a group of shrieking and sobbing imps. Other survivors joined the group, and a large uruk loaded on his back a few small ones, before setting out on their tracks. Left behind, an Orc, shorter than the others, took out from his pocket a stone that gave off a green glow under the sunset light, looked one last time at what was left of Barad-dûr, and then went running after his kin.  
When they were disappearing on the horizon, Sauron noticed that some of the imps had stopped whimpering and laughed again, hesitantly at first, but then more animated by the adults.

No one had seen him, there, alone and tiny upon his tower of broken stones. The gods and the great lords had fallen, while the weakest survived. Gods were very old, older than time, and the hour had arrived in which they should disappear to make way for the younger ones. And life went on. The traces of Melkor in the world would last until the end of days. Although he, Sauron, would be no longer there to see it.  
The Maia smiled, reconciled upon understanding this. And gradually his body became more tenuous and translucent, it turned into air, and then into nothing. Until everything faded around him, and he was left blind, naked and powerless.  
He had only one last thing to do.  
And guided by this desire and this single thought still contained in his spirit, Sauron departed towards sunset.  
He traveled for a long time among darkness. And at the end of the journey he felt he walls of cold blocking his path, and the silent presence of the Door, and the infinite loneliness of the border.  
He waited for an eternity.

And then one day, the Door opened, and his shadow crossed to the other side.


	8. The Lord on the White Plain

_And now beyond the world I sit,_  
 _and know not where you lie!_  
 _O Master, will you hear my voice_  
 _and answer ere we die?_

-Sauron Defeated (The Tower of Kirith Ungol)

There was no light in the Void, and the spirit of the Maia traversed infinite and bare vastness in which all references to space and time had disappeared. He couldn't say that he felt cold, but rather the absence of warmth. The absence of all things was what surrounded him.  
And yet there was a point in the midst of that immensity of nothing, a point that radiated a magnetic and familiar power, that drew him irresistibly. Sauron was directed towards that single point, perhaps very slowly or perhaps very quickly, though it could be the other way, and the point was actually approaching him.  
The intensity of the power became increasingly strong and unavoidable, while his own essence kept dissipating, and all thought, all conscience left him, at the edge of no return.  
Until the Maia hit something, the only _something_ that seemed to exist there.

-Sauron, you look terrible. -he heard a voice saying, a mocking but very loved voice.

And then a crystalline laughter vibrated through him.  
The presence surrounded Sauron, melted with his own broken spirit, and slowly began to heal him, filling each of the cracks with incandescent energy, sealing his wounds with a new power, almost too intense for the Maia. And Sauron felt himself growing, felt how the pitiful shadow to which he had been reduced became stronger, strengthened by the other presence, whose energy reserves seemed inexhaustible. Flesh and bone regenerated around him, with a speed that he would have never dreamed in the long years he spent in Dol Guldur without a body.  
The other presence no longer caressed his naked spirit, but his skin, a real skin.

Sauron opened his eyes and looked at him.  
White, bright and blinding, standing on a white plain, with the impenetrable darkness of the Void behind, Melkor was smiling at him.  
Terrible and beautiful in all his glory.  
Sauron did not say a word; he simply threw himself into his arms, pressed his head against the chest of the Vala, and wept. The tears he had held for all the ages of the world flowed then to his eyes and he couldn't do anything to stop them.

-But what's this, the lieutenant of Angband crying!? The day we said farewell you weren't able to give me a single tear. And now that we have met again you shed them in thousands. How should I interpret that, Sauron? –whispered the Vala, stroking his hair.- Something really traumatic must have happened to leave you in this state. Oh, if you had seen yourself just a moment ago! I had never encountered a spirit so shattered. Aren't you going to tell me anything, or hear my story?

The Maia shook his head, and suddenly pressed his lips against the mouth of his Lord and kissed him desperately.

-No, I don't want to know anything! Not now... I cannot think. I just want to feel thee again. Take me, fill me with thy body as thou hast done before with thy power! Once thou promisedst me, but then thou didst not keep thy promise...

Sauron dragged his Lord to the ground and entwined with him, with lust and grief and fury. Melkor was downright confused.

-This is not the way, Sauron. All of a sudden, without even a greeting. Besides, I'll hurt you if we don't...

-I don't care, do me harm, it will be the best! Thus at least I will feel something and know whether I'm really alive or it's just an illusion. I've spent so much time dead, my Lord. Thou canst not even imagine it! I just want to feel thee, to know that thou art real. -replied the Maia, kissing him.

Tears still streamed down his cheek, and Melkor noticed a salty taste in his mouth. A bit inexpertly, without having a very clear idea of what he was doing or why he did it, Melkor placed himself between the legs of the Maia, clasped around his waist, and penetrated him.  
Sauron cried out in exquisite pain, and was finally able to prove that yes, he was alive again and had returned with his Lord, fused with him into a perfect whole. Now he could see his face more clearly, with eyes closed and mouth slightly open in a beautiful expression of pleasure.  
If he felt pleasure himself, he wasn't sure, because the pain and joy mingled confusedly in his head.  
He simply knew that when his Lord pressed against him, panting, with a moan of ecstasy, as a warm fluid ran inside him, he was much calmer and had regained his sanity.

-Oh, just to think about what I've been missing all this time! I think I could stay inside here for a few millennia. –muttered the Vala, nibbling his ear, and moved his hips a bit to enjoy a last caress, among small spasms, before the Maia asked him to leave.

-Please, my Lord, I have just recovered my body. Let me use it at least for a while before destroying it again.

Melkor laughed and let him free, watching his servant recomposing and dressing himself again, with a mixture of desire and curiosity in his eyes. Sauron had the same appearance that he remembered from the days of Angband, but looked tired and overwhelmed by the melancholy of Middle-earth.  
When he finished putting on his clothes, both stood up and then the Maia could focus more intently on his surroundings.  
They were in the middle of a white plain, of a delicate and translucent material such as crystal, beneath which flowed fine rivers of lava. In a way, it reminded him of Melkor's skin. The skies were black and radiated loneliness, though here and there were punctuated by strange stars of irregular and disconcerting glow.  
But even more disconcerting was the appearance of his Lord. His body had recovered the beauty of the early days, free of wounds and mutilations, except for a single scar that snaked on the white skin and was lost in a black spot.

-I left it for you. I know you liked it. –explained the Vala, running a finger along the line of his pubis, upon noticing the point where the Maia's eyes were fixed.

The latter looked up, blushing a little, and found that over the head of Melkor shone again a crown, very similar to the one that he had worn in the First Age, with three jewels that mimicked the Silmarils. Though of course, the new gems had no light comparable to that of the originals, but were made of the same translucent crystal of the earth, and within them also flowed a drop of fire as the blood in a body.

-It's a replacement until the day I get my Silmarils back, nothing more. –said Melkor, shrugging.

Sauron nodded.

-I like these jewels more than the others, because they don't scorch the eyes and are thy work, not that of someone else's hand.

-Flatterer... Now follow me, I have a lot to show you and a lot to explain you. -and the Vala started walking before him, still naked.

Sauron coughed, somewhat uncomfortable.

-Ahem! My Lord, art thou not going to dress thyself?

-Dress myself!? What for? In case you hadn't noticed, this is the Void, the vast uninhabited spaces of Eä, extending beyond Arda up to the Timeless Halls. There's not a single soul here, Sauron! Why should I dress myself!?

-Pardon, my Lord, but I find a bit difficult to pay thee attention and look at thy eyes if I have thee all the time naked in front of me. Not to mention how tiring is to live in a constant state of arousal. I have spent many centuries in Middle-earth, and I'm too used to its customs.

Melkor sighed, rolling his eyes.

-Damn, you have just arrived and already you're annoying me! –he grumbled, but agreed to his wish and conjured a black robe around his body.

Once the problem was solved, Sauron started walking besides the Vala, as he showed him all that was in that strange new world.

-I suppose you'll want to know what happened to me and how I got here. Well, after those treacherous and dishonest Valar dragged me in chains to their realm, I was brought to trial. They gave me two options, either to waive my right over Arda, apologize and serve Manwë, or to be thrown into the Void. Of course I have my pride and I wasn't going to apologize for a fault I hadn't commited, so I chose the second option. -Sauron glanced sideways at Melkor. Of course that wasn't what had happened, and he knew it well since he had been among the audience. He still kept the painful memory of his Lord humiliating himself and begging his enemies, willing even to prostitute himself for a little mercy. But it didn't bother him that Melkor tried to lie; he had suffered much, he had the right to forget. About what came next, however, the Maia knew nothing, because he hadn't the courage to stay until the end of the execution.- They took me to the walls of night and I saw those doors opening before me, and the dark abyss that would swallow my being, to separate me forever from Arda and all that I loved in it. And yet I didn't beg them, I didn't give them that satisfaction. Furious, in a final gesture of sadism and spite, the Valar ripped my body and threw me naked and trembling to the Void. And they closed the door. I will say nothing about the millenia I spent thus, destroyed and without body, because you know what it is like and that there are no words to describe it. But then one day, suddenly, I realized that I had regained my physical form, and that the Void wasn't as void as I thought. There are many beautiful and mysterious things in the vastness of Eä, which no one cares about and no one remembers. Such was my interest in Arda during the days before days that I had never noticed it, and it was then when I discovered this with great pleasure. I have crossed all its spaces and have uncovered all its secrets, I have gained control over the cold, dead matter to mould it to my liking and give it a new life. This is now my kingdom.

Melkor waved his arms pointing to the heavens without light and the white plain that stretched to the end of the horizon.  
Sauron realized then that this crystalline land was not as smooth and uniform as it had seemed at first sight. Here and there, fantastic protuberances, violently cut projections, sharp cliffs and bottomless cracks, broke its surface. And the veins of fire flowed in perpetual motion. There was no life, but nevertheless, the power of his Lord permeated everything with a curious organic quality.  
In the sky, the stars moved in circles facing each other, or tore the impenetrable blackness before disappearing, some were blue, or red, or greenish, or were dead and black, waxed and waned without following a pattern, or simply imploded in the middle of a flash, and then went out forever.  
Those were not the fixed, serene stars of Varda. Those stars had been touched by the furious hand of his master, the same hand that opened wounds and left scars on the earth to show his mood. It was a world that swayed dangerously over the edge of balanced chaos. And like all the works of Melkor, it possesed a rarefied beauty, almost morbid, but fascinating.

-If this is thy kingdom now, does that mean that Eru has forgiven thee, returned thy original power, and allows thee to rule the Void?

Melkor frowned, offended.

-Eru!? Don't talk about Eru, he has nothing to do with this and I don't need him at all! Of course, I have regained my power with my own means and gradually. While I stayed in Arda, the best part of me infiltrated its flesh and bones, and I was left almost empty. But after being separated from it, the power came back to me, to its rightful owner. Don't take me wrong, Sauron, Arda is still my main objective, and someday I will return to claim it. But in the meanwhile I can wait here, until I'm ready for the great final stroke. Look, we've almost reached my fortress: Helband, the ice prison.

Sauron observed a mass of sharp crystals rising in the distance, twisted like a claw that seemed to imprison a large stone of pale light. Nearby the fortress, and in memory of Thangorodrim, emerged a cylindrical volcano of surprising phallic shape. The veins of fire climbed inside it in spirals, and finally burst through the upper end in violent intermittent eruptions. Thereafter the lava slid indolent across the outer surface and got lost in the pits and ditches at the foot of the volcano. Sauron smiled to himself wickedly.

-Wert thou thinking about something specific when thou didst the design for that volcano, my Lord?

Melkor blinked without understanding.

-Thinking? I don't need to think about anything to raise volcanoes, Sauron! They simply emerge from the earth, nothing more.

Once in front of the fortress, the Maia noticed that something strange happened with the geometry of the place. It had too many angles, too many dimensions. Or rather, angles and dimensions unknown and incoherent.  
When he came inside he felt dizzy. Tortuous stairs interwined with ledges without any support, and disappeared inside closed ceilings. Asymmetric arches opened onto long corridors in darkness, which then turned out to be just cavities of a misleading optic. The floor was uneven where it seemed most smooth, and completely flat where it seemed to have steps.  
The only light came from the lava currents that went up the walls and joined in a thousand capillaries in the vaults. The crystal gave off ghostly twinkles, as will-o'-the-wisps. And once again Sauron perceived that organic pulse through the structure; he had the impression of being inside the guts of a monster.

-This place needs the arrangements of a Maia of Aulë, I'm afraid.

-Yes, perhaps, but it's fine for me. –replied Melkor, with some indifference.- Come over here.

And the Vala led him up a stair to a platform that opened to the outer spaces. On the platform there was only one bed, precariously placed at the edge of the precipice. And two stars huge like two suns, one of fire and the other of pale glass, glowed in the dark skies in front of it, tinting the sheets with gold and silver.

-This is my bedroom. –explained Melkor, pointing out the obvious.

-It's a bit dangerous to sleep on the edge of the abyss, dost thou think not? –laughed the Maia, and then added with affection.- Those stars that light up thy bed, didst thou make them in memory of my eyes?

Melkor looked away and said nothing.  
Sauron understood how lonely he must have felt, there in the Void, for so many millennia. He too had been alone, but in a very different way. He had been forced to look forward, to a future full of plans and projects that required his urgent attention. Melkor, however, had only the past to dwell in his thoughts, because the future had ceased to exist for him, or was very uncertain. Everything that he had raised there was a monument to his memories, a gesture of love for Arda and what he had lost in it.  
The Maia leaned over his Lord and kissed him on the cheek. Melkor seemed disturbed, he glanced at the bed, and bit his lip. Sauron was about to lie down with him, and make him love properly to compensate for the hasty and embarrassing experience of before. But the Vala made him a sign to follow him, and jumped from the edge of the platform into the abyss.  
Sauron shook his head, and chose to descend in a more civilized way by the same stair that had brought him there. But upon reaching the last step, he found with perplexity that he was standing again on the platform of the bed.

-It doesn't work that way, Sauron, it's something I have to fix. Jump here, don't be such a coward!

The Maia shrugged; Melkor could be many things, but he certainly wasn't an architect (not a rational architect, at least).  
He jumped into the plain that lay at his feet, and his Lord picked him in the midst of fall, transformed into a disembodied beam of light.

-I want to show you more: the depths of time, the unknown lights that are born and die without being ever seen. I want to _share_ it with you.

Sauron disembodied as well, merged with the Vala in an embrace of love, and they tore the heavens together as a single flashing ray.  
After a long journey through the stellar voids, Melkor stopped and both recovered their bodies. In front of them space disappeared into a hole darker than absolute black. One could say that it was made of a material darkness, something physical, a something that was nothing. Not even light could escape that vortex that devoured everything with insatiable hunger and regurgitated it in the form of shadow webs.

-I come here every day. -explained the Vala.- And I wait for her.

-For whom?

-For whom do you think? For Ungoliant, that nasty treacherous spider! It was from this hole from where she crawled eons ago, in the mists of time. And from this hole she will crawl again someday, when her cycle in Arda comes to an end. Then I'll be waiting here, to give her what she deserves.

Sauron stared at the abominable and solid darkness of the hole, as if hypnotized, and inadvertently began to approach it, drawn by an invincible force. Melkor grabbed his arm in time and pulled him away from the gravitational field.

-Fool, beware! If you get too close, there will be no power that can stop you, and you will be absorbed. It happened to me once, and believe me, it wasn't pleasant.

After having shown him the black hole, Melkor led him to another remote place in Eä. There, a giant star swirled at such vertiginous speed, that its light had become a vertical beam and disappeared into infinity, both above and below their heads. The star emitted flashes every few seconds, as if it throbbed, and bathed them both in a pure white light.  
The Vala took his hand and placed it on his own chest; Sauron discovered then that the star's glints were in synchrony with the heartbeats of his Lord. Melkor looked at him smiling, and thus lit up, Sauron knew that he was again before the radiant and undefiled Ainu that had emerged from the mind of Eru. That whom everyone had loved at first as the most beautiful and wonderful being of creation.

-I would like to kiss thee now, my Lord, but I don't know if I dare anymore. Thou hast raised too high over me. -murmured the Maia humbly, and Melkor laughed.

-Why don't you tell me then what you have been doing all this time in Arda, now that you know what I've been doing? Then I'll can judge if you're still worthy of me or not.

Sauron told him all the events of the Second and Third Age: his promising beginnings, his rise to power, his precipitous fall. And for the first time, Melkor listened to him carefully. Not because he could get some personal benefit from that information, but simply because he was interested in what had happened to another, someone other than himself.  
Only at one point he was incredulous and dismissive:

-That's all very nice, Sauron, and certainly shows your commitment to me. But confess me what really happened in Númenor. You don't expect me to believe that story about Eru intervening and changing the shape of the world, right? If Eru didn't move from the Timeless Halls when I ruled Middle-earth, how would he shake off his laziness to punish you, that were just a minor threat?

The Maia frowned, hurt.

-What I tell thee is the only truth, my Lord. I have hidden nothing, nor have I added anything of my invention. Not even the most shameful details I have omitted, why would I make up that story for no reason? And if thou dost not believe me, let's go together to Arda and contemplate the earth from space. Thou wilt then see how it's round!

Melkor's mouth twisted with malice, but he accepted the challenge. And both ploughed through the Void, until the luminous region of Arda opened before them like a flower in the desert.  
The two Ainur stood behind the Valacirca and looked down, at the blue earth globe, with the belt of the Sun and Moon around.

-Dost thou see? The earth is round now. Thou mayst not have noticed till now, with so much work as thou hadst in the inhospitable places of Eä. But thou wilt not deny the evidence of thy eyes, isn't it?

Melkor shook his head, stifling a chuckle.

-Oh, Sauron, the destruction of that ring of yours must have upset your head! The earth is still flat, as it always was.

-But how canst thou say that!? It's round, clearly round!

-I see it flat.

-Thou only seest it flat because thou wantest it to be flat!

-I see it as it is: flat. –and the Vala turned his back to him, settling the matter.

Sauron groaned in frustration. It was useless; if Melkor wanted the earth, spherical as a globe, to be flat as a scroll, then flat would it be, and there was no further discussion.  
Also, he was starting to feel very weak. Although he had recovered his body through the transfer of power from his Lord, he couldn't therefore ignore the traumatic blow of the Ring. Moreover now, being so close to Arda and to the memory of his failure, he was filled with unbearable melancholy. Occasionally he saw again, in a flash before his eyes, the burst of fire and the melting metal, the circumference that faded into a shapeless mass. And he relived again all the pain of the breakup of his skin, his flesh, his spirit. The Maia whimpered and swayed, as if about to faint. Melkor, noticing this, hastened to hold him in his arms.

-But what's wrong with you, Sauron? You were never so weak, keep your composure!

-I'm sorry, my liege, I think I haven't yet recovered completely. That accursed hobbit...

-Hobbit?

-Yes, the creature that destroyed my Ring and with it my empire. Hadn't I mentioned him? The hobbits are...

-I know very well what is a hobbit ! –the Vala interrupted him, gritting his teeth angrily.- There is no creature of Arda that is unknown to me. I am Arda, do you remember?!

-Yes, of course, my Lord. But as I said, I still need a lot more rest before being again the Maia I used to be. I don't understand... I still don't understand where was my fault. I had a plan, a pristine and perfect vision.

-That was your fault, Sauron: to have a plan, a vision. -said Melkor affectionately, and withdrew from his forehead a strand of hair that had left its usual place behind the ear.- Idealists always fail in the end because reality can only be that, reality. It never lives up to ideals. Look at me instead; I never had any plan.

-And didst thou fare better than me? -one of the Maia's fangs shone behind his lips, teasing, and Melkor returned the gesture.

-I haven't fared bad. Watch this. –then the Vala covered with his hand the image of Arda that glimmered before them, and clenched his fist as if imprisoning it.- I told you that one day I would have Arda in the palm of my hand, do you see how I wasn't wrong?

Sauron laughed slightly, but he could perceive the sadness in the eyes of Melkor upon saying those words.  
Obviously, this wasn't what he had in mind when he had sworn he would have Arda in his hands, that distant day in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. And yet... somehow, this fate in the Void was the greatest clemency that could have been reserved for the Vala. Because thus he would always have Arda in his thoughts as an objective, even if it was an unattainable objective. Melkor lived from desires, from stratagems and struggle, but once he got what he wanted he grew bored to death. And Sauron was sure that if Melkor had actually become the undisputed master of all Arda and had destroyed every last one of his enemies, that would have been his end. Then he wouldn't have had any option but destroy Arda and even himself, once his life had been emptied of meaning and purpose.  
Yes, after all, Eru and the Valar had been merciful with him, although Melkor would never admit it.  
The Maia leaned his head on his shoulder, very tired.

-I would like to return to the fortress, my Lord, and rest a little.

-All right, since you've decided to act like a sobbing maiden, I have no choice but to grant you some rest. But first, let me do one last thing...

Then Melkor breathed on the stars of Valacirca, on which they were perched, and these suddenly turned off. With an evil laugh, he fled from there with his Maia. And just in time, for at that moment a particularly beautiful and familiar light surmounted the walls of night and approached them.  
The Vala stood at a safe distance, and a mixture of rage and desire flashed in his eyes.

-There comes again that damned Eärendil with my Silmaril! He thinks it belongs to him now, but soon I will have it once more on my forehead, when I discover how to come close to his ship without burning myself. I'll show him and everyone else!

Sauron felt confused and a little dizzy.

-And what is Eärendil doing here in the Void? Does that mean that he also passed through the Door of Night?

-Yes, you see how is the justice of the Valar: they reward the saviour of Elves and Men in the same way that they punish the worst of their enemies. Very ironic. It was probably the idea of Mandos; that Vala has a weird sense of humour, to say the least.

The mention of Mandos brought disturbing thoughts to the mind of the Maia, but not even then he dared to confront his Lord with the question that had tormented him so long. However, he didn't need to say it aloud, because while they returned to the fortress in spirit form, Melkor could sense his doubts clearly.  
And he chose to answer them with only his thought, for he had sworn never to talk again about the subject.

"Yes, Sauron, all that really happened."

"But didst thou desire it?"

"In part I did and in part I didn't. I don't even know anymore. I can only say that I was ravished. Do you feel disappointed with me?"

Sauron simply caressed the spirit of his Lord, moved by his unusual sincerity, and the Vala enveloped him even more closely, until small fragments from both entered the other and mingled into a whole.

Before returning to Helband, Melkor insisted in showing the Maia one last thing that, he assured, would revive his mood and strength.  
In a cave near the fortress, the Vala discovered to him a huge translucent vessel, with shape vaguely similar to that of an uterus, within which floated a large number of trapped souls. The two Ainur ascended to the edge to look more closely at the spirits, that glowed as fluorescent fish in the depths of the ocean.

-This is where end up sooner or later all the Maiar that ever served me, after dying in Arda. They feel my presence and slowly travel to the Door of Night, cross to the other side and come to me, like you've done. Then I keep them in this vessel, till the day comes for them to be born again. That one over there, for example, arrived shortly before you. -and Melkor pointed at a reddish and inflamed spirit, definitely a Balrog.

Sauron opened his eyes astonished and a little indignant.

-And why dost thou not give them back their bodies as well, my Lord? Doesn't it seem cruel to thee to have them here locked!?

-Meh, don't worry about them! They're sunk in a deep slumber and feel no pain. You wouldn't seriously expect that I alone take care of leading an army of Maiar. That's the work of the lieutenant, that is, YOUR work. I've been waiting for your return to restore their bodies, though I suspected that you'd be the last to arrive. The last of the pawns to fall. The queen of my board. –the Vala cast a knowing glance at him.- Now that you're here, however, there is no reason to keep them asleep any longer. Very soon you'll be extremely busy, Sauron. You know, organizing the troops and planning the assault on Arda and the capture of Eärendil.

-Art thou not even going to give me a few days off to recover?

-Don't be lazy! Besides, look who is there: I'm sure you have missed fighting with him. -Melkor referred to one of the spirits, bigger and more flaming than the rest, which gave off a kind of angry aura around. Sauron recognized him at once as his old rival Gothmog.- Would you like that I bring him back?

-Dost thou ask me if I want to have again by my side that boastful, insufferable, envious, stinking, quarrelsome and unintelligent Balrog? –the Maia smiled, comforted, and said with a sigh:- Yes, definitely yes.

-I'm glad to hear that. And you'll see how very soon the glory of the old days resurfaces and my servants extend their shadow over each region of the Void, as a threat on the borders of Arda. And the old oppression will be reborn in the hearts of those miserable Elves and Men, that oppression inherited from their ancestors, but that now they only remember in their nightmares. And they will know that I, Melkor, the Mighty Arising, don't sleep, but watch them day and night. And they'll despair again.

But Sauron lowered his head and closed his eyes, grief-stricken at these words.

-Yes, my Lord, we can become powerful again. But still, I can't ignore the fact that many other things won't be anymore. There won't be more dragons, nor Orcs, nor werewolves... I won't see my lieutenant again.

-Your lieutenant? What do you mean with "your lieutenant"? You're the lieutenant! –snapped Melkor, scratching his head in confusion.- Or do you mean that pathetic creature, that man that I...?

However, upon seeing the expression of deep pain in the Maia, he chose not to continue, and he also lowered his head in silence. There was a sadness in that heart that he couldn't understand, and in which it was better not to penetrate.  
Then he gently touched his arm, and whispered:

-Let's go to bed, Sauron.

The Maia let his master lead him to the bedroom almost as a sleepwalker, but when he found himself in front of the large and comfortable bed, his sorrow was mitigated by the promise of a well-deserved rest.  
Nonetheless, before he had time to undress and crawl under the covers, he discovered that his Lord had beaten him to it. And now he lay completely naked on the mattress, after throwing the crown of the fake Silmarils to the floor without much care, and his eyes pierced him with lust. Meanwhile, other parts of his body also began to betray a visible arousal. Sauron licked his lips, glanced at that bare and throbbing body, and forgot his exhaustion for the moment.

-You wouldn't believe that I would allow you to sleep just like that, do you, my lieutenant? -muttered the Vala with narrowed eyes, while playing with one of his nipples.- I've got my needs, and for too many centuries I haven't been able to satisfy them, other than with myself and inanimate objects.

-Uh, inanimate objects, my Lord?

-You owe me a favour, Sauron. –continued Melkor, completely ignoring the question.- And this is a very great favour, since it's your body and your life what I have given you. Now come here. And love me.

The Vala stretched voluptuously over the sheets, white skin on a black background, and that was all it took for Sauron to finish tearing his clothes, jump over him and kiss him with animal fury.

-My Lord, to love thee is the easiest order I have ever received. -sighed the Maia among kisses.- But ironically, I've been obeying it my whole life and never consider it fulfilled. Why should it be so?

Melkor chuckled, while a pair of fangs dug slightly into the skin of his throat, and both Ainur rolled intertwined. Then Sauron understood that this was no longer the fragile and full of wounds Vala, that one should treat with care, but an uncontrollable force with which one should be careful himself. It wasn't difficult for his Lord to immobilize him on his back, and when his lips closed around the member of the Maia, he was surprised by the vulnerable moan that escaped his mouth. Though he had no opportunity to moan much more, since Melkor turned around until his crotch was placed before Sauron's face, with obvious intentions, while he kept pleasuring him for his part.  
Sauron was more than willing to play along, and licked the purple and shiny end, went down a swollen vein along the stem, gently stroked the delicate sack, and finally thrust his tongue into the cavity of his Lord. But when he felt that wet muscle entering the depths of his being, the Vala let out an "Oh!" of pleasure and forgot completely about the needs of his servant.  
Instead of that he closed his eyes, bit his lower lip, and began to move his hips against him, trying that the intrusion reached as deeply as possible.  
Sauron felt uncomfortable with his own swollen and throbbing member abandoned in that cruel way. Slightly irritated, he stopped licking the inside of his Lord.

-Mmm... why do you stop? Are you going to put your fingers into me? -sighed the Vala hopefully.

-No, I'm not going to put my fingers into thee! Since thou art a lustful and selfish being, who only cares for his own pleasure, I see no choice but to put something into thee that makes me enjoy myself as well. -complained the lieutenant.

-That will be if I allow you!

-Ah, but thou art going to allow me, I assure thee! -and with an expert movement, which he had often used in hand to hand combat, Sauron turned the Vala over, leaving him on his back, and lay on him.

Melkor struggled, using only a small part of his real power, while the Maia fought in vain to open his legs.  
They squirmed violently, among stifled laughs, groans and affectionate bites. Until at some point, the Vala grew too excited and ended up throwing his lieutenant out of the bed, and almost off the cliff that opened near this bed. Sauron rubbed his head outraged, among the teasings of his Lord, who apparently found all that very entertaining.

-You should see yourself, Sauron! I almost regret not having brought back Gothmog yet, so he might watch this. I think it's the first thing I'll tell him when he wakes up.

-Oh, really? We'll see if thou canst tell him anything, because when I'm finished with thee, thou art going to be disembodied for a good while, the way I'll leave thy backside.- threatened the Maia.

And this time, when he pounced again on his Lord, he sensed how he relaxed, how he let him win with half a lewd smile. Sauron then grabbed his legs, brought his knees up to his head, and so, in that exposed position of complete defenselessness, Melkor surrendered himself and let him penetrate his flesh.  
Both let out a sigh at the same time. The Maia felt the warmth of his Lord's body radiating around him and entering through his own veins to his heart. And the Vala moaned with closed eyes, completed and satisfied in his abandonment, free of himself and of the control he had always to assume.

-I 've missed thee so much...

-And I have missed you, Sauron...

But then Melkor was disturbed, and felt afraid of revealing too much of his own soul. Reveal something that frightened even him. Quickly, he changed his expression of bliss for one of calculated malice, before he betrayed himself.

-Do you know what is the best part of having regained my shape-shifting ability?

-What, my Lord?

-That now I can finally do this! -and the next second, Sauron found himself copulating with a repulsive tentacle monster that oozed obscene fluids through countless orifices.

The horrible vision only lasted a moment, but when Melkor recovered his usual body in the midst of malevolent laughter, the lieutenant had turned more livid than the fortress' crystal.

-Very funny, my liege. –he spluttered, thrusting him with more force than what was necessary and eliciting a high-pitched cry.- But if thou dost again such a joke, I promise thee that the next thing thou wilt see will be Tulkas burying his huge member within thee. And laughing.

The smile faded from the face of the Vala at once, and immediately, as a gesture of concord, he intertwined his arms and legs around the body of his servant and kissed him gently.

-Don't get so angry, it was just a joke. Also, I swear by my Silmarils that if you ever happen to take the form of Tulkas while you make love to me, I'll turn you into the harlot of all the Balrogs and force you to dance naked for them.

-Understood. -replied the lieutenant, licking his Adam's apple.

And thus, as their pleasure grew, reflecting mutually as in a mirror, the flesh of both became more tenuous, the skin that separated them was dissolved, and they began to sink into each other. Until finally, at the moment of climax, they were reduced to a single naked and trembling spirit, and their moan of joy echoed through the Void in unison, while the currents of lava stirred in their icy prison, as if they celebrated the union of the two Ainur.

Once they recovered their bodies, they lay next to each other, still weaved together and unwilling to separate. A heat wave vibrated around them.  
Sauron nodded off, about to sink into the abyss of slumber, though Melkor was still stroking his side and kissing his neck. Indeed, after a short while, and when the Maia was almost asleep, he felt his Lord pressing against his back, and a member, hard again, brushing his thighs.

-Mmm... Sauron, I want to do it as we did it before, when we reunited again. That was new to me, and gave me much pleasure. Now open yourself and let me come inside. –whispered the Vala, pushing with his hips lasciviously.

The lieutenant had no strength even to answer anything coherent, so he merely raised one leg a bit to provide better accessm and grunted in acceptance.

-Oh, yes, that is, how wonderful...! You're so warm inside, and so tight! -sighed the Vala, going in and out slowly.- One can tell that you're almost a virgin in this way, though soon you'll want me to penetrate you all the time. You like it, right? You can feel your Lord filling you completely, brushing you in that secret spot, driving you mad with pleasure, isn't it, Sauron?

The only response he got was a snore; his lieutenant had fallen asleep.  
Melkor stopped short, and bewilderment came over him, and then embarrasment, and finally an intense fury. He shook the Maia and rebuked him with terrible curses, but all in vain. The utter exhaustion of his servant, after the misfortunes in Middle-earth and the long travels through the Void, was taking its toll.

"Well, I suppose I could keep making love to him even if he doesn't notice it. After all, I don't need him to move in the slightest." –the Vala tried to comfort himself.

But after a few minutes, he realized how weird and _wrong_ seemed all that, and with a groan of frustration was forced to leave the other body.  
He couldn't believe that this injustice was happening to him, precisely now that his desire was most inflamed. Right then, he would have satisfied himself with almost any thing: with an orc, with a troll, with any of the creations of Yavanna, and even with Tulkas if he hadn't other choice.  
For the umpteenth time in the many ages that he had spent there alone, he had to settle with his hand. And he began to touch himself desperately, trying to fantasize about the tortures that he would inflict upon his servant when he woke up. At least this time, neither Manwë nor Mandos slipped into his fantasies, which was a relief.  
After finishing, he cleaned himself with his lieutenant's clothes, in revenge, and he pulled the sheets off the other's body.

-You can sleep if you want, traitor, but you won't do it comfortable and warm under my covers! –he threatened, and a shiver ran through the naked body of the Maia.

Without knowing why, Melkor felt overcome by a strange impulse upon seeing him so helpless and innocent. And before he could stop to think what he was doing, he found himself leaning over Sauron, kissing his cheek with sweetness, and tucking him in again.  
Then he felt terribly ridiculous and angry, and dressing himself, left the fortress like a lightning bolt of fire.  
A sheer mountain range stood before him as the sharp teeth of a monster. To Melkor they seemed very irritating, and he went through them with a sudden blow that broke the peaks one after another. The masses of stone collapsed in his wake, raising a cloud of crystal dust that refracted the starlight.  
The Vala calmed down a bit. But he needed still someone to vent his rage, and he knew exactly where to find the appropriate person.

The surface of the liquid crystal lake lay with supernatural perfection. Not a single wave, not the slightest movement, disturbed that mirror. And the stars reflected in it as if on the other side was a parallel and identical universe, though inverted.

-Eru! -called the Vala.- Do not hide, I know you're there!

As there was no answer in the following seconds, Melkor grew impatient and threw a rock into the lake. The next moment, the circular waves spread out from the center of the pool, breaking its harmony. And then they took the form of a different vibration, such as that of the vocal cords of a living being.

-Do you always throw stones at the head of the people so they listen to you, Melkor? -said the Voice from the lake.

-When they don't pay attention to me, yes.

-And has someone ever not paid attention to you? Curious, because your whole existence has consisted of being the center of attention for all the world. –there was a tinge of irony in the Voice, but it was kind.- Did you come to ask me the same thing as always?

-The same.

-Then you already know that my answer will be the same as always.

-I know. But I hoped that this time would be different.

-Of course, Melkor. Hope rarely coincides with what one knows rationally. That's why it is called hope. Anyway, it's good that you have come here, because I also wanted to talk with you.

The lake waves stirred with violence, but suddenly ceased, and the mirror recovered its impossible uniformity. Next to the Vala appeared a child of about ten years of age, dressed in white and silver-haired, oddly brilliant. An eerie aura seemed to envelop him.  
Melkor blinked astonished upon seeing the apparition.

-Are you... Are you Eru?

-I _am_. Yes.

-Bu... But how can you be Eru!? I mean, this appearance is not what I... -the Vala scratched his head, trying to put into words his surprise.- Shouldn't you be a venerable old man with a long white beard, or something like that?

Eru shrugged.

-I can be whatever I want, Melkor. Why would I choose the frail, withered and wrinkled body of an old man?

-Because... Because...You are Eru, you're the oldest being that exists!

-I live in the Timeless Halls, so time does not pass through me. The way I see it, Melkor, I'm the youngest being of all creation. -Eru let out a tinkling laugh, and then motioned with his hand for the Vala to follow him.- Come, let's take a stroll.

They started walking across the white plain: Melkor, a tall, dark figure, and beside him the little and glowing boy.

-I see you've finally decided to get dressed. –said Eru, casually.

-What else could I do, if the censor is back!

-And I also think that you've done something in the Valacirca, what did I tell you about that?

-That could have been done by anybody!

-It's true, there are SO MANY people around here... By the way, Mandos asked me about you. He wanted to know how are you faring in the Void.

The Vala clenched his teeth with rage at the mention of the name.

-Really? Well, tell him on my behalf that I sincerely wish that all the tortured souls of his halls rebel against him and tear down the walls to crush him under a mountain of rubble and tapestries, while Fëanor rips his two eyes and two balls to make with them not three, but four new Silmarils.

-I'll tell him you send greetings. -Melkor was tempted to burst into a pillar of fire. But Eru ignored this reaction and continued with his conversation.- There's also another person who thinks about you often. Your brother Manwë. Since the Valar thrust you into the Void he has been very sad, and often goes to the Door of Night and watches it in silence. There's a deep pain in his heart.

Melkor snorted with contempt.

-Yes, the hypocrite pain of someone who does something terrible to his brother and then is shocked by his own actions, but that neither repents of them, nor tries to amend them.

-You understand your brother as little as he understands you. –said Eru, shaking his head dejected. The combination of that child's voice with the gravity of his words produced a disturbing effect.- Manwë wants to see you again, he needs to check with his own eyes that you're well, to bury once and for all that sadness that is killing him. And he asked me for permission to cross the Door of Night and pay you a visit in the Void. But first I wanted to know your opinion. There's no sense in journeying here if you won't receive him.

Melkor stopped short and turned his back to Eru, with his arms crossed in anger.

-Of course I'm not going to receive him! I hate him!

-But he loves you. He loves you in a way that you can't even imagine, Melkor. If you only knew... If you only knew what I know, if you could read his heart as I read it...

The Vala bit his lip, still turned around, and made an effort to stop the treacherous tears surfacing his eyes. But when he tried to speak, the lump in his throat was more than evident.

-And if he loves me, why did he do what he did to me? Why did he allow them to mutilate me, to humiliate me, to banish me in this way? They even tore my body, not even that they left me!

-Manwë doesn't have the power to change the fate of the world himself, nothing that happened to you depended solely on him. As for your body... well, Melkor, considering the state in which you were at the end of the First Age, I think the Valar did you a favour ridding you of it. Besides, you're not banished, but exiled.

-And what's the difference!?

-"Exiled" sounds better.

Melkor laughed bitterly, choked with the tears that he could not longer hold, and sat on the floor with his head in his arms.

-You always speak nice of Manwë, always excuse him and blame me. I can't believe anything you say about him, because you were never objective. He was always your favourite, you always loved him more than me! -he complained, feeling the most miserable being of Eä.

-My favourite? Yes, of course. Manwë is good and obedient, how couldn't he be my favourite? But I don't love him more than you.

Melkor felt a small hand resting on his shoulder and stroking his hair. As much as he loathed to admit it, the gesture was comforting.

-Well, what do you say? Will you allow your brother to come to see you someday?

The Vala wiped his eyes and said nothing, but Eru perceived consent in his spirit. Grabbing his arm, he helped him to his feet again, and they continued their walk. In those moments they were passing under a bone-coloured archway, that mimicked the ribcage of a huge creature.

-I like how you left this place. It's sinister, but beautiful in its own way. -commented Eru, with sparkling eyes.- Let's talk about more mundane things, shall we? I know your lieutenant has come back to your side; you must be very happy to have company again, aren't you?

-I guess so. But something is wrong with him: he looks tired, hopelessly tired. He's not the same as before. A while ago I was making love to him and he fell asleep! And don't think that I wasn't rough. I fear that my power is not enough to sustain him. I fear that he will disappear again.

-Do not worry, he will recover. The Maiar are less resistant to physical destruction than the Valar, and he has suffered more destructions than any other Ainu. But time and rest will close all his wounds and he will be the same as before.

-And how do you know that, uh, how do you know!? What if it's not so, what if I lose him!? –snapped Melkor.

Eru rolled his eyes.

-Melkor, please. I know all the things that were, that are, and that will be, and even those which could have been but were not. So when I say that your Maia will be fine, I would appreciate that at least you gave me the benefit of the doubt. You know, for being Eru and all that.

Melkor frowned. He had to admit that he had a point, but he wasn't calm yet.

-Apart from that weariness there's something else... A deep sorrow that I can't understand completely, as a permanent loss. I think it's because of that cursed human who followed him everywhere, his "shadow", as he called him. I suspect he's been cheating on me with that sack of bones and now misses him because he will never see him again. I almost wish I could give him back his plaything, so as not to endure his sighs of melancholy.

Hearing this, however, the sweet and innocent face of Eru became somber. And in his blue eyes manifested the true depth of his wisdom.  
Suddenly, Melkor had the unnerving impression that that figure so young had become something unfathomably old, and a shiver ran down his spine.

-What you wish is impossible, Melkor, and you know it. The fate of the Second-born concerns only me and nothing nor nobody must ever change that. Unless I make an exception, and I only did it once. No mortal returns from their alloted place after death. And I think that mortal, more than any other, needed the eternal rest. Don't you think that ye tormented him enough while he lived? Don't you think that what ye did to him was horrible enough already? –the Vala looked away, a little ashamed, but Eru relaxed his expression and seemed young again.- Nevertheless, death and dreams are brothers and follow similar paths. Sometimes the paths cross, and in the crossroads those who sleep and those who are dead may meet again, if they both desire so. Tell that to your lieutenant.

Melkor raised an eyebrow slyly, and a wicked plan began to take shape in his mind. He had discovered a secret which perhaps could be used for his own purposes.

-Does that mean that I can also find the Men in my dreams? -he asked, with poorly-veiled malice.

Eru laughed.

-Of course not! Is there any mortal who wants to see you again?

-No... I suppose not... -admitted the Vala through clenched teeth.

Without realizing it they had descended to a gorge, and the steep walls of glass on both sides broke the light into a thousand trembling particles. Overhead, two stars, one red and one blue, swirled facing each other in a perpetual dance. They reminded Melkor of how he and Manwë had joined in the beginning, before any discordance.  
It would be better not to think about it.

-Eru, can I ask you a question? –he blurted, as if distracted.

\- Even if I said no, you would ask it the same. So go ahead.

-What's a "hobbit"?

-Oh, the hobbits!... They are mysterious creatures that few in Middle-earth have seen, due to their uncanny ability to seem invisible. No one has ever succeeded in invading their lands and drive them away, and the last one who tried it, a powerful Maia, was completely annihilated and forced to return to Valinor. They are incredibly voracious and eat six times a day. Sometimes they can also be seen ejecting rings of smoke from their mouths.

Melkor nodded thoughtfully. No doubt those hobbits were fierce and dangerous, like dragons. He couldn't blame his lieutenant for having succumbed to one.

-And about what Sauron said to me... It's not true that you changed the shape of the world because of him, right?

-Of course it's true! I had to transform the world into a sphere and move away the Undying Lands to prevent a cosmic catastrophe. I had never been forced to intervene in a similar way before. Surely the wickedness of your Maia caused much more damage to the world that all your evil deeds together, Melkor.

-Enough, you only say that to torture me! And I don't believe anything! -yelled the Vala. In the child's face hinted half a smirk.- Better not talk about this nonsense of the shape of the world. Now tell me, how are faring my creatures? How are my dragons, my werewolves, my trolls and my Orcs?

-There are no more dragons in Middle-earth, I'm afraid. And the last one was devoured by your lieutenant. -Melkor raised an eyebrow upon hearing this.- Nor there are werewolves left, and only a few trolls. Your Orcs, however, are coping more or less fine. Some have even learned to coexist with Elves and Men. They don't like each other and are not friends, but they tolerate them.

-Come on, Eru, destroy me once and for all and put an end to this misery! My Orcs coexisting with Elves!? If I had eaten anything in the last millennia, I would vomit right now.

-What happens, Melkor, aren't you glad that your Orcs live happy?

-No! And why would you be glad!?

-Because in despite of all, they are my Children too. And though I will never forgive that you corrupted them and threw them to a life of misery, I have no choice but to love them as the rest of my Children. Do you understand now what's the difference between you and me? I can love every little detail of Creation, no matter how beautiful or ugly it is. You're not even able to love that which is your work. Is there anything you love, Melkor?

They had reached the end of the white plain, and before them only the empty immensity opened, with its bright and distant flickerings. The Vala leaned over the edge and looked at the pit of blackness under him. Then he sighed.

-Yes, there are things I love. –he whispered.- I loved Arda.

-Only in the sense that it was an extension of yourself. That doesn't count, Melkor. Is there nothing else, _no one_ else that you love, not even a little?

-I... -but Melkor had not the courage to continue, and just lowered his eyes in grief.

Eru understood. Peeking as well over the edge of the plain, he glanced at the bottom part of it. What he found there was the landscape of the other end of the plain before his eyes, with the fortress silhouetted in the background.

-You've warped the space in unorthodox ways, Melkor.

-Well, I'm unorthodox. –the Vala smiled sadly. And then confronted Eru with a serious expression, and asked him that question which he had always wanted to ask, the question that gnawed at him from the beginning of time:- Eru, why did you create me, if you have always opposed to my existence?

The child looked at him with affection, and glittering among the specks of light from the crystals, he began to dissolve in tiny luminous particles, until he disappeared altogether.  
Eru's presence seemed to fill all space, and enveloped the Vala in an embrace and a caress, that he didn't know whether to reject outright or accept without hesitation, fully surrendered to its consolation.

-I have never opposed to your existence, Melkor. -said the Voice, whispering in his ear and at the same time reverberating throughout the universe.- I just oppose to your existence in Arda _now_. The world has become too small and belongs to Men. There's not enough space for you, you would stifle all other living beings. The other Valar have withdrawn as well. Such is your lot. And if you ever return to Arda it will be with a very specific mission. It will be sent by me. No, Melkor, I'm not opposed to your existence, for your part in the Music is fundamental, perhaps the most fundamental of all, even if none of you contemplated it to its final conclusion.

The embrace of Eru became fainter and he separated from him, leaving the Vala with a sense of emptiness and abandoment. He couldn't see him or feel him anymore.

-I don't know if my part in the Music is fundamental or not. All I know is that it was the most sorrowful of all. Tell me, Eru, what was my part but that of pain, confinement, fear and loneliness!? I have nothing to be thankful for!

-Great ambitions are often attached to great disappointments and great suffering. -replied the Voice, now from the void, and every time he said a word the stars turned on and off in various patterns.- Would you have preferred to be a humble and mediocre creature, but content?

-Well, no...

\- And do you seriously think that you are the most sorrowful of all beings? Have you ever thought of Nienna, for example?

-She's one of those insignificant Valier, isn't she? I've heard of her, yes, I may have thought of her once.

-Once! And yet Nienna remembers you every day of her life, and cries for the pain that you brought to the world, and for your own pain. She suffers for every sorrow of the earth, for sorrows that you can't even remember though they're yours. But nobody cries for her. How about that?

-That is her nature, and no one denies it to her. But my nature was to create things of my own thought, and you denied that to me! –reproached him Melkor, without really knowing to whom he yelled.- Why, oh Eru, why did you never lend me the Flame Imperishable!? Everyone else could use it to give life to their creations: Aulë and his dwarves, Yavanna and her plants, Manwë and his eagles. Only I was left neglected, abandoned, childless, sterile! Why, Eru, why did you deny me the Flame Imperishable!?

-But Melkor, did you ever _ask_ me for it?

The Vala suddenly fell silent, and gasped, struck by the obviousness of that simple fact.  
It was true: he had never thought about asking for the Flame Imperishable, just like that. His first reaction was to believe that everyone hated him and that Eru would never lend it to him, so he had tried to steal it, and in that moment was born a frustration that would only grow with the ages of Arda.  
Melkor took a breath, and for the first time in his life plucked up courage, real courage, without shields, without armour, without walls around him.  
What he was about to do was by far the hardest thing he had ever done:

-You asked me before if there was no one I loved. Yes, there is one. And you asked me as well why I wasn't able to love my own creatures. The answer is that they are not my creatures: they are yours and always were. But if you gave me a chance, if you allowed me to create life for once, I would show you that I can love my children just as you love yours... _Please_ , Eru.

Then fell silence throughout the cosmos. And for a second it seemed that time itself, which had run without a halt from the beginning, had stopped suddenly to listen surprised to that word, spoken by a mouth that had never spoken it before, and which might not do it again.

Eru reflected for a moment, which for Melkor was eternal. And finally, he gave him an answer:

-Allright, Melkor.

The Vala smiled at that response, incredibly simple but infinitely important.  
The weight that had oppressed his spirit since always evaporated all of a sudden.  
And then he said something much more unprecedented, a unique note in the cadences of the Music:

-Thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all. I can't believe this is finished. It's been one year and a half since I started writing the previous fic and have grown so fond of these characters; now this is going to leave a hole in my life. I hope all of you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I will still upload a couple of bonus chapters, but mostly crack stuff. I will try to write the first one as soon as possible, since the next month I'm going to a military training camp and will be off for a while. So if I don't manage to finish it, you'll have to wait for three months or so, sorry! :)
> 
> Now, some notes about the cosmology in this chapter that may have seemed strange for some readers:
> 
> -Stars and things in the Void (what the hell? isn't it the "void"!?):
> 
> I'm of the opinion that, even if at first Tolkien conceived the Void as empty, and the stars were set in Ilmen and were part of Arda, later he changed his mind on this. And he thought of the Void as outer space, where are the stars and other cosmic objects. Thus the line in Ainulindalë about Arda being placed "in the midst of the innumerable stars".
> 
> There's also this footnote in Morgoth's Ring (Myths Transformed, VII):  
> "Since the minds of Men (and even of the Elves) were inclined to confuse the 'Void', as a conception of the state of Not-being, outside Creation or Eä, with the conception of vast spaces within Eä, especially those conceived to lie all about the enisled 'Kingdom of Arda' (which we should probably call the Solar System)"
> 
> And this other passage in Myths Transformed, IV:  
> "In the 'demiurgic period', before the establishment of Arda 'the Realm', while the Valar in general (including an unnamed host of others who never came to Arda) were labouring in the general construction of Ea (the World or Universe), Varda was in Eldarin and Numenorean legend said to have designed and set in their places most of the principal stars;"
> 
> Well, in the end I chose this interpretation because it suited the story better, so different strokes for different folks, I suppose.
> 
> -Eärendil in the Void (how can he even breath!?):
> 
> I took this from the line at the end of the Silmarillion, where it's said that he "passed through the Door of Night", though he visits Valinor when he brings his ship to port. It was also a good opportunity to show what an asshole is Mandos. XD
> 
> P.S. I can't believe I found an appropiate poem even for this wholly out-of-canon chapter, and from a book with a most appropiate title (though granted, it's completely taken out of context).  
> Thanks Tolkien for so many haunting verses and for creating the characters and world that made possible this story. And thanks to all readers and reviewers for your support. This wouldn't have been even half the fun without your comments and appreciation. :)
> 
> P.S. 2: In next mini-chapter: The Shadow of Sauron is nailed to the bed by his master because...well, because of the Internet.


	9. Appendix 1: The Servant in the Lonely Chamber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more of an appendix of sorts, and just a very gratuitous Sauron/Shadow of Sauron slash piece. Some readers wanted to see a bit of action for this couple, and honestly, after so many millenia getting only Orc ass, the poor man deserved a consolation. As such, this qualifies probably as a "porn without plot", with no real place inside the main story (though if you read to the end, you'll find that all this nonsense makes some sense). Read it or not, if you want or don't want to see this couple.
> 
> Warnings: graphic sex (more graphic than in the other chapters, anyway), non-con, tentacles (yes, tentacles).

_There are older and fouler things than Orcs in_  
_the deep places of the world._

-Gandalf (The Lord of the Rings: "A Journey in the Dark")

The celebrations after the battle that put an end to the siege of Angband had prolonged overnight, and drink had generously run through the throats of Melkor's servants. But now the Shadow of Sauron began to feel tired, and the initial euphoria of alcohol had become an unpleasant dizziness.  
Bowing before the throne of the Vala, he asked permission to retire to his chambers to rest, and after the indolent gesture of Melkor and the assent of his master, he left the room unsteadily.  
Although he didn't realize that someone else also left behind him.

He went down the endless corridors of the fortress, poorly lit, and once in front of his bedroom's door he began to search for the key among the folds of his robe. Since he was eager to get into bed as soon as possible, the key had to evade his hand as if with will of its own.  
The darkness and his drunkenness didn't help anyway.  
When he finally found the small object and placed it in the keyhole, the door opened with an eerie screech. The man had the impression that a mass of shadows loomed menacingly behind him, and almost stumbling, he hurried into the chamber.  
The room was very modest, and the furniture was reduced to a bed, a table with an oil lamp, and in the adjacent compartment, a bath and a brazier for heating water. At least it wasn't cold thanks to the furnaces of the lower floors, and the Shadow of Sauron prepared to remove his intricate garments.  
Then he remembered that he had left the entrance open. But upon turning around to close it, he found that the muscular hulk of Gothmog filled the doorway completely. The man winced and was unable to utter a single word; it was the first time the Balrog appeared in his room, and he couldn't imagine what he would want from him.

-You're so lonely tonight! Didn't you call any Orc to come and keep you company? –said Gothmog sarcastically, as he looked up and down at him.

The man lowered his head in shame.

-No, my lord Gothmog, ... Tonight I just want to sleep.

-Aye. You seem pretty drunk. However, some of us never sleep, and other things come to my mind in particular that I could do right now.

The Maia came into the room uninvited, closed the door behind him, and approached the man. The aura of shadows and fire that enveloped him always seemed specially inflamed at the time, and there was an unsettling glint in his eyes.  
The Shadow of Sauron took a couple of steps back, alarmed by an instinctive sense of danger.

-What dost thou want from me, my lord? –he stammered, while Gothmog towered over him like a mountain on fire.

-Nothing, my little man. I just would like to taste what so many others have tasted before. –and the Shadow of Sauron gasped when the demon run his rough claw across his jaw.- Tell me, little one, what do those dirty Orcs to you? Do they stick it in your rear? Do you stick it in theirs? Tell me.

The always pale cheeks of the man turned red for a moment, and he tried to elude the caresses of the Balrog. He was beginning to tremble from head to foot, his drunkenness had evaporated as if by magic, and all his senses screamed at him to flee from there as soon as possible.  
But on the other hand, he couldn't believe that this was really happening. Gothmog was a Maia, one of the sacred Ainur and a brave captain. Those beings who had sung in the first Music couldn't have such base and vulgar desires. Carnality didn't exist for them, who were pure spirit, unless it was the expression of a deep love as the one which, he supposed, was between his master and Melkor. And certainly no Ainu would ever abuse an inferior creature like a man. Right?  
Nonetheless, the Balrog kept touching him, and when one of his claws went down his frail body and stroked his backside, the man lost his temper completely.

-Please, my lord Gothmog, go away! Thou shouldst not be here, my master... My master wouldn't like it if he knew. I'm not worthy of thee, please go away!

The Shadow of Sauron made a move to escape, but that was the catalyst for everything, and leaving aside his scarce subtlety, Gothmog grabbed him abruptly, threw him on the bed and lay on him.

-Don't you dare to reject me, despicable insect! Everyone in this fortress has a right to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. Everyone but Gothmog, isn't it? Well, that's over! I also want to have fun, and what better way to do it than with the pet of that arrogant Gorthaur? Yes, in a way, dishonouring you would be like dishonouring him.

The man writhed in vain, among whining and pleading, but the huge body of the demon had immobilized him under his weight. Gothmog had taken his hand to his belt and now struggled to undo the metal clasps that kept his private parts hidden. The Shadow of Sauron closed his eyes tightly and prayed to Eru so the belt became tangled or something similar, and it was impossible to get rid of it. But upon feeling a fleshy, wet muscle brushing his chin he was forced to open his eyes again.  
Before him stood up a monstrous and swollen member, as a reddish snake that watched him with its unique vertical eye, ready to bite him in any moment. And behind this horrible head poked the no less horrible head of Gothmog, with his flaming hair and his wicked smile.

-Let's give a better use to that ugly mouth of yours. I want to see your black lips closing around my cock, and your filthy tongue licking it up and down with desire, like the harlot you are. -the Balrog inserted a couple of fingers in his mouth and tried to open it, but the man bit him.

Gothmog screamed, but soon recovered from the attack and responded with a slap. The Shadow of Sauron's eyes watered, but even then he kept his mouth obstinately closed.

-So that's how it's going to be, isn't it? Has the worm still some pride? Well, if you don't let me shove it up your mouth, I'll have to shove it up here! -roared the Balrog, and lifting his robe to the waist, placed a finger against the opening of the poor wretch and threatened to penetrate it by force.

At that time, the man burst into tears, unable to endure a second longer the terrible humiliation.

-No, not up there, my lord, please! Anywhere but there! I will ... I will be good, my lord Gothmog ... I won't bite anymore.

The demon consented to the pleas of his victim, and placing himself in front of his face, inserted the member inside his mouth, which closed soft and submissively on it. Gothmog grunted with pleasure upon feeling the wet cavity surrounding him, and the tongue curling around.  
Almost without realizing it, he began to thrust his hips, robbing the man of even those last remains of autonomy. The salt of his tears mixed in his mouth with the unpleasant taste of the Balrog's secretions. And this time the Shadow of Sauron didn't pray to Eru, but cursed him for giving him such a miserable and shameful life.  
Gothmog's member was too big for him, and with each violent thrust it brushed his throat in a way that he thought impossible until then. The man was sure that he would either vomit or asphyxiate. But he didn't care anymore.  
The lower part of his body had been left exposed and he felt the cold air between his legs; he almost wished that another Balrog came in the chamber and, seeing him thus, would also rape him to kill him once and for all. All he wanted was to die, to die and disappear finally. And as if this time Eru had listened indeed to his wishes, someone entered the room with a slam of the door.  
Although it was not a Balrog.

-What do you think you're doing with my servant, stupid brainless lump!? -the steely voice of the lieutenant cut the atmosphere like a knife.

Gothmog stopped short, and sliding out of the man, he turned his head to face his hated rival. Sauron had his arms crossed, pale and cold and gloriously menacing. The eye of fire burned the sight just by looking at it, and the pupil had disappeared in a line of anger.  
The man's heart skipped a beat and his love for the Maia, for his saviour, brought hope back to him.

-Get out, Gorthaur, you have no right to claim this creature as your own! I can also use him to do as I please. Go back with the Lord Melkor! Surely you've left him tied and naked on the bed, with the handle of your whip stuck inside his arsehole, and now he's getting impatient.

Sauron twisted the corner of his mouth with half a smirk.

-Tied and naked, can be. With something stuck inside his arsehole, who knows? But my whip, dear Gothmog, I have it right here. -and the lieutenant tightened the black leather lash in front of his eyes.

The Balrog's mind told him to stand in guard, but the hand of his opponent was much faster than his thoughts, and the whip cracked against the balls that hung between his legs.  
The howl of pain of Gothmog shook the fortress to the very summits of Thangorodrim. And the next second he rolled on the bed onto the floor, writhing in agony. Sauron pounced on him, transformed into a wolf, and after a few bites and struggles forced his opponent to flee the room, bleeding and stumbling in his wake.

-This isn't settled yet, Gorthaur! Sooner or later I shall satisfy my desire. And maybe next time I'll do it with you! -cried the Balrog as an ultimatum, before running off.

The lieutenant laughed:

-You better go sit on a block of ice then. I don't like my lovers with their parts in pain. –then he turned to his servant, who at the time was pulling down his robe again and looked at him adoringly after the heroic fight.- As for you, why were you giving pleasure to that undesirable, if I may ask? Who gave you permission to bed my rival?

-But master, I didn't want to do it! He forced me!

The Maia raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

-I've caught you with your robes up and your legs spread wide. Anyone would think you were offering yourself to him.

The unfortunate man began to sob again, seeing that his master didn't believe him.

-How canst thou say something like that, master? It was horrible for me! I even came to believe that he would deflower me.

Sauron took pity on him when he realized he was telling the truth and his tears were sincere, and sitting on the bed beside him, he stroked his neck gently to reassure him.

-Have you never been penetrated then?

-No, master. In that sense I'm virgin and pure, I promise thee!

-I see. However, this situation poses a major problem. Forced or not, the fact is that you have pleased my enemy, you, who are precisely my servant and owe me absolute loyalty. I think the only way to solve this dilemma is that you compensate your master fairly. –the Shadow of Sauron looked at him with innocent misunderstanding, and the lieutenant gave him a malicious smile.

Then, standing up, the Maia began to unbutton his shirt before the astonished gaze of the man.  
When the firm chest, the erect nipples, and the stomach hard as a rock were discovered in front of him, a rush of blood flowed to his cheeks while another rush went down to his crotch. And when the white abdomen, the dark pubic hair and the beautiful attributes of his master bared themselves, the Shadow of Sauron could already feel his hardened member brushing the fabric of the robe.  
Once free of all his clothes, the lieutenant lay indolently on the bed and spread his legs slightly.

-Well, since you've been licking that ox in heat of Gothmog, you must now lick me, and thus your debt will be settled.

The man swallowed, and mentally begged Eru to give him strength so as not to explode right there, leaving a white puddle on the sheets. Although probably Eru was already tired of his stupid prayers and had stopped listening.

-Master, this task that thou entrustest me, gives more pleasure to me than to thee, and I swear that under no circumstances I would compare it with the abominable act that Gothmog forced me to commit.

-Well. Then get to it and show me your devotion and loyalty.

Trembling with excitement, the Shadow of Sauron lay between the legs of the Maia and took the still flaccid member in his mouth, stroking the soft sack below. The black tongue ran lovingly across every vein, every inch of skin, and went under the skin of the tip to explore its interiors, still hidden.  
Sauron let out a murmur of pleasure and spread his legs a little more. The man then looked up, and met the desirous eyes of his master, who had begun to caress one of his nipples. The fire of his eye now burned warmly and the pupil was dilated, as other parts of his body also began to dilate.  
Soon thereafter, the Shadow of Sauron no longer licked a tender appendage, but a steely rod of flesh with a wet and bare end, while the Maia's sighs gradually turned into moans and gasps, and his eyes closed in ecstasy.

-It's so big and beautiful, master. No wonder the Lord Melkor wants it all to himself. –murmured the man, kissing the slit at the tip, and the vibration of his words sent a delicious shiver down the thighs of Sauron.

The Maia's stomach heaved in an hypnotic way, and below his private parts, his entrance hole had been left open and in sight. The Shadow of Sauron felt his own member reacting with lust upon seeing that opening, and licked his lips. He had to get inside there, no matter what, even at the cost of a terrible punishment or death itself.  
An unpleasant pressure had spread through his pubis, it was almost painful, and he began to seriously doubt his ability to suppress the most basic instincts.  
Maybe if he awoke in his master the desire to be penetrated, he would let him enter... Surreptitiously, the man licked one finger until leaving it wet and slippery, and without notice, he inserted it inside the body of the lieutenant. The latter winced, opened his eyes wide, and sat up a little to see what was doing his servant and realize that, indeed and against all odds, he had just violated the most secret corner of his body.

-Hey! But what are you doing? -he exclaimed, in part confused, in part embarrassed, and in part tremendously aroused.

His servant looked at him with a gesture of feigned innocence.

-Forgive me, master. Dost thou want me to stop it?

The finger was stroking him in an exquisitely sensitive spot that he had inside there, and warm waves of pleasure radiated from that center throughout his body. Now he understood why Melkor always insisted that he touched that part, small and round like an almond.  
Sauron threw his head back and closed his eyes with a moan.

-No... Continue.

The man smiled to himself seeing that his plan was working.  
A few minutes later the Maia had been reduced to a trembling creature, that asked him in a lewd tone for more fingers inside. The Shadow of Sauron first inserted in him two, and then three, and then a fourth finger, and finally he inserted his tongue.  
Then the lieutenant lost his composure completely, he sat upright in a jolt, and with animal fury he tore the man's clothes until leaving him naked.

-Stick it in me, all the way! -he ordered, giving himself completely.

And the servant needed no further instructions to fulfill his mission.  
With an incomparable joy, that few mortals would ever know in their short, sad lives within the circles of the world, the Shadow and the master of the Shadow became one.  
The screams of pleasure of the man echoed within the walls, with an intensity that suddenly seemed excessive in the silence of the night. And then the fear of being discovered overcame him. What if Melkor went down to the chamber and found them like that: his lieutenant sprawled shamelessly, while the mortal, that he so despised, penetrated him to his very entrails? The Maia would suffer the wrath of his Lord, no doubt, but what would become of him?  
Sauron read the concern of his heart without trouble, united as their bodies were, and he chuckled.

-Don't worry, my little servant. If Melkor discovers us, he will get angry first and then very hot, and will just want to join the party. No need to worry.

The Maia stroked with sweetness the man's spine, more protruding than it should be, and he calmed down.  
It didn't take many more thrusts to leave the Shadow of Sauron on the very brink of climax. The stimulation was too perfect, the image of his master voluptuously stretching beneath him, too exciting, and he had also been too lonely for too long.  
Sauron bit his lip with narrowed eyes, and almost in a whisper he sighed:

-Do you know? All this makes me feel dirty: being here wide open, while a mere mortal pierces me and steals my purity of Ainu. And I like that. I think you should try it too.

A dangerous glint flashed across the surface of the glass eye, and a sadistic smile hinted on his lips.  
In that moment the man noticed with horror that a change was taking place in the body of his master. From the sides of the Maia emerged a dozen thin appendages, like black tentacles, that stretched toward him and began to climb up his legs. The touch was cold and moist, and the Shadow of Sauron shuddered as he felt them entwining and digging into his flesh. When the tentacles grabbed him by the thighs, six in each leg, and separated them, he understood too late what they intended.

-No, master, not... not that, please! Don't do me... -but words died in his mouth, replaced by an exclamation, when one of the appendages went into his hole, while the others caressed him nearby like a thousand obscene fingers.

Then the man forgot to thrust, forgot everything he knew, and all his senses focused on just two things: the tentacle that crawled inside, moistening him as an impossibly long tongue, and the lascivious leer of his master fixed on his face.  
The man groaned with humiliation and pleasure, and almost inadvertently, moved his hips down to finish impaling himself in the appendage. After this, another tentacle also joined, and then another and another and another. When the twelfth tentacle penetrated him, the man felt so full, so incredibly open, that he thought he would break at that time. All he could do was pant motionless and out of breath, too overwhelmed to even moan or complain.  
And at last, when the twelve viscous appendages agreed to caress that secret spot with supernatural precision, the man finally surrendered.  
A spasm ran through his whole body, the muscles of his cavity contracted around the invading tentacles, as if to insert them deeper and at the same time expel them, and amid a cry of release, he spilled his seed inside the body of his master.  
Sauron gave a triumphant laugh as the man left his body, too sensitive, too sore to endure more stimulation. He rolled to one side of the bed and lay there, panting and trembling.

-I can still feel your contractions, little one. -whispered the Maia in his ear, and the Shadow of Sauron let out a sob of shame.

Having mercy on him, he withdrew the tentacles one by one, and they disappeared into his side as if they had never existed. Then he hugged his servant from behind and kissed him on the shoulder.

-What happens, why do you tremble and cower? Didn't you like it?

-It's not that, master, it's that... Well, I got somehow scared, and I felt a bit violated.

-My poor little one! Forgive me. We Ainur sometimes forget how fragile the bodies and spirits of mortals are. But come, take off that helmet. It must be extremely uncomfortable to lie with it.

Sauron removed the bone helmet and left it on the floor. Then he turned the body of the man to face him and ran a hand through his hair, affectionately.

-Dost thou think I'm ugly, master?

-No, of course not. I think you are... acceptable. –the Shadow of Sauron smiled at him, moved, and pressed against the chest of the Maia; he had never felt so protected in his whole life.- And I like your delicate body of man, and your simple desire of man, and your primitive and sincere pleasure of man.

Cold fingers moved across the scars of his back, while his master's lips kissed him on the forehead and cheek, as if consoling him for the damage his whip had caused him time ago.  
The lieutenant then noticed something shiny that glistened in the left nipple of his servant, something he hadn't noticed before.

-I gave you this ring. –he remarked, touching the jewel that hung from the rosy protuberance.

-Yes. I put it there to always have a memory of thee close to my heart.

-It's very beautiful... -murmured Sauron stroking the nipple, which hardened under his fingers, and then kissed it softly.- You're very beautiful, no matter what the others say.

-And art thou not disgusted by the fact that I haven't got a single hair on my body? For the Orcs it seems very laughable, and that even when some of them have just four hairs down there. It makes me feel quite embarrassed.

As his only response, the lieutenant went down his body and kissed the naked and smooth skin of his pubis. Then came up again, and placing his leg around his hip, he whispered:

-Listen, I know you feel tired after the assault of Gothmog and all these emotions, but you have still a duty towards me. Ye men do everything fast because your lives are fleeting, but Ainur have been granted all the time of Eä, and therefore we take things more calmly. -the man gave him a questioning look, and Sauron sighed resignedly.- What I'm trying to say with all this is that you've left me half done.

And getting closer, he made him feel the supplicant hardness that stood still in the midst of his crotch. The servant blushed realizing his lack of consideration, and immediately set out to fix the error.

-I'm sorry, master, I had forgotten about thy needs, forgive me. Of course, thou canst penetrate me if thou wantest, and satisfy thyself that way.

The lieutenant accepted the offer without hesitation, and the man's body, still wet inside because of the tentacles, gave way to him with surprising ease, despite the size difference.  
Sauron laughed softly:

-Little liar ... You're not a virgin. This hasn't been done just by my tentacles, am I right?

-I didn't ... I didn't dare to admit it, but it's true: I'm not a virgin. Is that bad, master? -muttered the man in a distressed tone, but the Maia laughed again and kissed him on the lips.

-No, of course it's not bad. It's alright, calm down.

The Shadow of Sauron relaxed, content, and while he felt how his master filled him completely, he realized that his whole life became meaningful in that moment. The world began and ended for him with that union, that point to which he would return perpetually thereafter.  
At first he only felt that: an ineffable happiness, as the sensations of the body blurred. But after a while, a tingle began to wake inside him, in the areas in which his master brushed him faster and faster. And the tingling turned into a warm wave that radiated to his stomach, and his breathing quickened in unison with the gasps of his master, and his legs began to shake. Sauron moaned incoherent words under his breath: "It's almost done... I'm almost there... Oh, curse it!... Oh, yes, it's almost, it's almost, my little one...!"  
And as if the voice worked a magical influence on him, the man felt a surge of pleasure that grew and grew and grew, to agonizing limits. And it was strange, because this time it came from within, from some kind of epicenter, and it almost caused him terror, as if upon bursting, the sensations wpuld break his innards.  
The Shadow of Sauron dug his nails into the sheets, tensed up, closed his eyes tightly, and bit his lip to prevent a scream from escaping him. Something ominous was about to unleash itself in him. He could almost feel that little spot, swollen and throbbing against the friction of the foreign member. And yet, his own member lay flaccid and abandoned on his stomach.

-Master, fuck me, fuck me like there's no tomorrow. –he murmured, not conscious anymore of the obscenities that he let out.- Stick thy cock deeper... oh, yes, deeper! Stick it to the uttermost depths, until ripping my hole!

Finally losing control, Sauron felt the first contraction in his own body, and in the body into which he was buried.  
He thrusted even harder, the man opened further, both moaned simultaneously. And then...

Blam! The door of the chamber flew open, and with a cry of surprise, the Shadow of Sauron winced and spilled the ink on the table at which he wrote. Quickly, he grouped the papers to avoid them being stained.  
The lieutenant was standing in the doorway and looked at him questioningly.

-What were you doing?

-Oh, master! I... I... wasn't... I wasn't doing anything! -stammered the man, turned into a bundle of nerves and visibly heated.

He jumped to his feet to greet the Maia, and the black lips stretched into a forced smile. Before his master could notice the bulge that raised his robe under the belly, he placed himself behind the back of the chair.

-Is that the report I requested you yesterday? -asked Sauron, pointing at the disordered papers on the table.

A drop of cold sweat ran from his servant's forehead.

-N ... No, that's nothing, master. Just some nonsense without importance.

-A nonsense? I better take a look at it. You shouldn't keep secrets from your master.

And before the horrified gaze of his servant, the lieutenant took the stack of papers without anything or anyone stopping him. The Shadow of Sauron buried his face in his hands and wished the earth would swallow him. But it was to no avail begging and repeating that the manuscript didn't matter; his master's suspicions were aroused, and he wouldn't stop until he got to the bottom of it.  
The writing was in Sindarin, and Sauron soon discovered with perplexity that it was unlike anything he had read before.  
As he went with his eyes through the writing, his perplexity gave way to surprise, and soon to outrage.

-Gothmog did this to you!? –he exclaimed, looking up from the paper and red with anger.

-No, master, none of that ever happened! In fact, Gothmog has always been good to me, and he even defended me sometimes. That's why I told thee that what is in those papers is just fanciful nonsense and not worthy for thee to lose thy valuable time reading them. If thou wouldst return them to me, please ... -and the man made as if to retrieve the writing before it was too late.

But the Maia held it away from his reach and frowned.  
Fate was sealed.  
However, if Sauron had known what those lines contained behind their clean and careful calligraphy, perhaps he would have thought twice before reading them. First his cheeks red with anger turned livid, then his eyes started opening more and more, he swallowed repeatedly, his pulse accelerated, and finally red returned to his face, but this time a red of embarrasing and fluster.  
When he finished reading the manuscript to the point where it was interrupted, he raised his eyes and looked shaken at his servant, there cowering against the wall, so innocent and shy and demure in appearance. It was hard to believe that such a fragile little creature would harbour such great perversions in his mind. Compared to the acts described by that quill, the things he did in the bedroom with Melkor were almost innocent and unimaginative.  
If Fëanor just knew about the use which had been given to his beloved alphabet in those papers...! And worst of all was that now the lieutenant couldn't help but imagine his servant naked, doing and letting been done to him the thousand obscenities reflected there. Such was the magical power of words, able to conjure up images of things never happened as if they were before his eyes. And these images in his head caused the Maia certain familiar tingling and throbbing in the lower parts of his body.  
He put the manuscript aside on the table, and rearranging the inseam of his trousers with unease, Sauron asked the inhibited man:

-Why do you write all these things if they have never happened? The written language is used to preserve events, bring messages, or narrate great feats and epic battles that deserve to be remembered forever. But you use the quill to describe intimate acts of bedchamber, that also exist only in your imagination. Why?

The Shadow of Sauron let out a sigh of grief, head down and unable to look at his master's face.

-Because I think about these things constantly, and I dream about them, and feel the need to write them down. Because that way they become more real, and for a moment it's as if I truly lived them... and then I feel less alone.

The man rubbed his arms miserably, and the lieutenant felt very sorry for him. Indeed, quite lonely and tormented had to be a creature who fantasized about being raped by Gothmog, neither more nor less.  
The man rubbed his arms miserably, and the lieutenant gave great sorry for him. Indeed, lonely and tormented had to be a creature who fantasized about being raped by Gothmog, neither more nor less.  
On the other hand, he had to admit that the Second-born showed a capacity for invention (for better or for worse) unmatched in Arda. An inquisitive mind was Eru's gift to Men, along with death. Although he would never understand why he had given them such a vivid imagination, together with such unbridled lust.  
In a sudden flash, the Maia visualised once more the naked man, impaled on his member, sliding up and down through it, while his black lips said lasciviously: "Give me all thy cock, master, I want it all."  
The tingling in his groin became even more obvious and annoying, and without really knowing why, Sauron covered the distance between them with one stride and began to stroke the neck of his servant. To the latter's surprise, he unclasped the robe over his shoulder and lowered it a bit. The ring on his left nipple gave off a golden twinkle under the candlelight.

-I see that in this respect, at least, your fiction is real. -he said, and caressed the nipple sending a shudder of surprise and arousal through the body of the mortal. The Maia leaned over him then, until the man felt the warmth of his breath against his skin, and whispered:- I wonder what other things are real as well...

One of the lieutenant's hands ran down his back, grabbed his buttocks and fondled them, surreptitiously brushing his opening.  
The Shadow of Sauron swallowed; the longest swallow of his life.

-Look, this is what we will do. -continued the Maia.- I must now fulfil certain duties that demand my attention in the fortress. Why don't you get in the bath meanwhile and clean yourself _thoroughly_? Thus when I get back, maybe we could turn that little story of yours in a theater performance... and invent an ending. What do you think?

And giving him a light wet kiss on his Adam's apple, the lieutenant turned away from him, replaced by a sudden rush of cold air. Then he picked up the stack of papers with the perverse story, and prepared to leave the room.  
The Shadow of Sauron fought against his astonishment, and against the arousal that dulled his senses in the form of an obvious erection, to dissolve the lump in his throat:

-Wait, master! Where art thou going with my manuscript?

-Oh, that! I want to show it to Melkor. He's a little distant lately and I want to make him horny, but I'll return it later to you. You don't care, right? -there were few things in the world that the unfortunate man cared about more than that.- Alright then. And remember: wash yourself well for me, and don't touch yourself until I return.

With that said, Sauron abandoned the room, leaving his servant alone again with his unquenchable desire.

The first of his master's orders, he fulfilled diligently. The second one, not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the noble tradition of porn stories was born in Angband in the First Age, and proudly continued by the Men of all ages thereafter. Of course Melkor, being the jerk he is, had to read the manuscript aloud in front of all the troops. And Gothmog had a hard time trying to convince everybody that he wasn't a rapist. The Shadow of Sauron didn't show his face in public for a while, but he got laid with his master, so they all lived happily ever after (and all that).
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this bit of crack. Just tomorrow I enter a Navy training camp so there won't be more chapters for a while. But if I don't get sunk in a frigate or something, I'll upload a new (not-so-cracky) appendix after Summer. Nonetheless, I'll check the e-mail once in a while for reviews, so you know what you have to do. ;)


	10. Appendix 2: The Twins in the Heart of Crystal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a very long hiatus, here's the second appendix.  
> In this one, Manwë pays a visit to Melkor in the Void, Melkor spoils his children, and Sauron and Gothmof suffer the consequences... specially Gothmog, of course. At parts poignant, at parts cracky, as usual.  
> There's some Melkor/Manwë fluff as well.  
> Read and enjoy :)

_Say to your brother:  
beyond the shadows we may meet again!_

-Aragorn (The Lord of the Rings: "The Passing of the Grey Company")

Manwë didn't know what he would find at the end of that journey to nowhere, and his heartbeat echoed deafeningly in his ears amid the silence of the Void. He had never felt so nervous before. Was it fear, was it joy?  
At last he was going to meet again with his brother. After all those millennia of grief and anguish, he had received the call that he expected so much. The Voice of Eru had granted him the grace to cross the Door of Night and had assured him that Melkor would receive him.  
Though he hadn't said how or under what conditions this would be, as was usual for Eru; if it wasn't to communicate some cryptic or ambiguous message, he didn't communicate at all. Sometimes Manwë feared that Eru had forgotten him after one of those long periods of silence.  
Darkness suddenly broke over the horizon, and a white crystalline plain appeared before him. As he approached the surface, Manwë perceived how some fundamental law of physics or geometry tore around him. Now he was in the kingdom of Melkor, the place agreed for the meeting, and Manwë's blood started to freeze in his veins. What if he didn't like what he was going to see? What if the one who received him was a Melkor horribly mutilated and disfigured by the Void? Or a miserable naked spirit unable to cover with flesh anymore? What if he had gone mad because of loneliness? The Vala pressed his temples in pain; he couldn't bear the burden of guilt if this was so.

A vibration that began to spread across the entire plain brought him out of his musings. The waves had its epicenter just a few steps ahead of him, and at that time, the translucent crystal melted at that point as if it was made of water and turned into a black swirl.  
Manwë stepped back terrified by the wonder, and then, a figure slowly emerged from that vortex: as black as the matter from which it had arisen, as pale and translucent as the crystal around them.  
Melkor shot an icy stare at his brother from the depths of his sunken eyes. The legs of the other Vala faltered and he had to swallow. Why did Melkor appear to him in such a sinister way, so gaunt and dark if, as was evident, he had regained the ability to change his shape? Did he come perchance with hostile intentions?  
However, the initial fear quickly gave way to a much stronger feeling in the heart of Manwë: love, the brotherly love that not even the Dark Lord with all his evildoings in Arda had managed to destroy ever.

-Brother ... -he stammered, with tears in his eyes, and stretched his arms towards the rebellious Vala, in an attempt to embrace him.

But Melkor's mouth twisted scornfully and he turned away in disgust.

-You have very little shame, showing up here and expecting me to forgive you after what ye did to me. What have you come for!?

-Why do you ask that? –muttered Manwë, lowering his arms in sorrow.- Eru told me that you had given me permission to come and visit you.

-Yes, well, maybe I changed my mind...

-Melkor, I cannot leave like this! Do you know how much I've waited for this moment, how broken and empty and deserted has been my life since the walls of night separated us? I needed to see you again!

The rebellious Vala turned around abruptly, and the fire encapsulated inside the false Silmarils of his crown fluttered furious, in reflection of the flame inside the eyes of their owner.

-And what is what you wanted to see, huh!? Perhaps the pathetic and mutilated prisoner, without feet, without dignity, covered in wounds, that you saw the last time? Was that what you desired to see in your sadism? Well look at me now, brother! Behold that whom ye covered with chains and opprobrium, whom ye humiliated and condemned, whose body was desecrated and whose spirit was banished! Tell me, what do you see? -and what Manwë saw was how shreds of darkness solidified around him, while the figure in front began to grow and grow, each time higher, each time more terrifying, and it cast an eerie shadow over his head.

The Lord of Valinor realized he was trembling, and now Melkor's voice blared like thunder on each fragment of rock and star and black hole.

-You didn't expect to find me thus, did you? Ruling the unnamed spaces of Eä, moving through the black cosmos that oppresses the hearts of men when they lift their eyes to heaven. But listen to this, Manwë: I have arisen from the ruins of my life, I have passed through solitude, through death and pain without limit, and I could reach the other side, more beautiful and powerful and wise than ye ever will be. I burned at both ends, but the fire did not consume me, it made me shine like a star upon dying. But it will indeed consume you, yes it will, brother... - a perverse smile gleamed amid the column of smoke and fire into which had transformed the Vala, and Manwë had the feeling that he should flee.- Burn, then!

Too late. A wall of flames exploded around him, and the thousand fire tongues of his brother enveloped him among laughter, licking and searing him voraciously. Manwë tried to escape, but discovered at that same moment that his powers had been limited upon entering the kingdom of Melkor, as if the evil Vala had placed a barrier on him. The fire was devouring him, it consumed his robe and flesh.  
But Manwë couldn't end like that; he had a duty towards Arda, he had to resolve the conflict with his brother. With a supreme effort he managed to disembody himself before vanishing into the flames, and rose there where they couldn't reach him.  
Melkor cried out in frustration, and melting into a beam of light, he tore the firmament, getting away from his hated brother. Manwë pursued him obstinately; even if Melkor didn't want to hear again from him, he would keep on insisting until he achieved a reconciliation, or at least was able to speak to him.  
A ray of blue light collided with the red beam that had become Melkor, and both Ainur plunged again towards the plain, entangled and confused with each other. Manwë didn't wish to harm his brother in any way, but the latter's intentions were very different.  
Their physical bodies recovered, they both rolled upon the surface: Melkor metamorphosed into a thousand different and horrible shapes, full of tentacles and teeth, while Manwë did his best to avoid being strangled or devoured through bites. Finally, the Lord of Valinor managed to place himself over his brother, and pressing him against the ground, forced him to return to his usual shape.

-Now you'll have to listen to me, Melkor. -he admonished, but to his surprise, the rebellious Vala burst into laughter with malice.

And then a very strange thing happened.  
The plane on which they were lying changed its perspective, the space was undone and redone again, ignoring every natural law, even though they both remained totally immobile. Manwë had barely blinked in astonishment, when he discovered that it was he who was now below and Melkor above.

-Don't you understand yet, dear brother, that all this plain is my body, that I can bend it to my will? -Melkor licked his lips wickedly.

The ground against which was pressed the back of Manwë became soft, fluid, it separated into a deep cavity. And the Lord of Valinor fell inside. Before he could get out of there, the opening was closed with solid bars, and between them sparkled the eyes of his brother.

-Don't take the effort to break those bars. The power I put into them won't crack under your pathetic blows. In the Void I am everything, and you are nothing. Where are your winds now, Manwë, where are your eagles? -he scoffed, standing up.

Despite the warning, Manwë still struggled against the barrier for a while, but all in vain. Defeated, he sat on the floor of the prison and buried his face in his arms.

-What do you want to do with me, brother? -he said, rather tired than frightened.

-Well, leave you there locked and left to your fate forever, what else?

-And haven't you thought that the other Valar will miss me sooner or later? That you might provoke the wrath of Eru with this act and he'll let the host of Valinor come through the Void to rescue me? Haven't you thought about all you could lose?

For a moment Melkor was speechless. Certainly, he hadn't considered any of this, but anyway, the idea of leaving Manwë in the hole had just occured to him now. No one could demand from him that he had analyzed and weighed each of the consequences from his actions.  
The rebellious Vala shrugged:

-I don't know. I think I'll assume the risk.

Manwë let out a deep sigh, but didn't move from the spot where he had sat.  
Faced with this indifference, Melkor began to get nervous. He rubbed his arms, ran the hand through his hair and changed his weight from one foot to another, but Manwë was still not reacting.

-Aren't you going to do anything about it, not even getting angry and cursing me!? I have just sentenced you to an eternity of captivity, away from your loved ones and Arda ! Won't you at least say something!?

Manwë shook his head, apathetic.

-Why, Melkor, why should I struggle anymore with you? A thousand times I have offered my help and forgiveness, a thousand times I have left a door open to reconciliation, and a thousand times you have rejected the path of repentance and have relapsed into your evil works with more obstinacy still. For once, I haven't reunited with you to exhort you to change, not even to reach an agreement, but only for the desire to see you, to talk to you. It was all I asked, but not even that you're able to grant me. Therefore, I'll assume my defeat, I'll assume the fact that you never cared about me just the thousandth part of what I cared about you. And I will sit here, until Eru decrees it or until the end of days arrives. Perhaps, over the centuries, you might deign to approach this pit and converse sensibly with me. It will be a great achievement for me.

And thus saying, Manwë rested his head in his arms again, wistfully.  
Melkor bit his lip. The truth was that, after the initial moment of fury, he didn't feel a special desire to torment Manwë any longer. He had burned him, he had bitten and beaten him, he had imprisoned him in the womb of his own kingdom.  
And now what? Only boredom. What was the sense of abandoning him there if he was going to accept his fate so serenely? And what did he gain from all that, besides irritating the Valar? He couldn't even enjoy the pleasure of seeing them irritated.  
It was true that seeing the Vala in that state was already a great pleasure. After forcing him to disembody and regain his physical shape so hastily and with most of his power blocked, Manwë had lost his usual splendour. He shone no longer with the light of Valinor, his blue robe appeared charred here and there, his pale hair fell limp and lifeless over his shoulders. Even his venerable beard was gone, consumed by fire. Manwë looked now like a miserable Maia, rather than the sovereign of Taniquetil.  
But the glorious vision of his defeated enemy was a novelty that Melkor could only enjoy once. After seeing it, the scene lost its interest. By contrast, manipulating his brother and playing with his feelings would entertain him much more, and it could be even useful. Why not soften his attitude, why not unleash his brotherly love?  
It was no longer possible to pretend that he had reformed himself, to roam freely through Arda, as he had done before destroying the Two Trees. Melkor knew one thing for sure about his brother: that he was good and confident. And another thing he knew about good and confident persons: that they're stupid. But all stupidity has its limits.  
No, he must not apologize and beg him to open the doors of Arda. He must simply become beloved for him, naturally, as if it wasn't his intention. And his brother's heart would soften so much, he would love him so much, that the day in which he would stand before the Door of Night with his army, ready to recover his kingdom, Manwë would have to let him pass. Not because he believed he came in peace, but only because of love, because of the remembrance that this visit would leave in his heart.  
Concealing a grin, Melkor dissolved the bars and offered a hand to the other Vala.

-Let's make a truce. Today we will be brothers. Just for a day.

Manwë took the hand with a gleam of emotion in his blue eyes, and came out the hole. For a moment he hesitated between embracing Melkor or not, but the other didn't seem willing to do so yet, so he was content with what he had achieved, which wasn't little.  
Melkor coughed and looked away, quite uncomfortable. Manwë didn't know what to say either, and remained there standing and waiting.

-Umm ... I better show you my realm, don't you think? -said the rebellious Vala at last.

His brother nodded happily.  
But Melkor's domains in the Void soon caused him a serious headache. Those planes overlapping in impossible ways, those obscene and palpitating shapes emerging from the crystal, and the veins of fire, and the stars rotating vertiginously until implosion. He didn't want to even imagine what would have happened with Arda if his brother had prevailed over the other Valar; no living being could exist in such conditions.

-Do you think so, Manwë? -whispered the other Vala with a wry smile. He had been reading his thoughts.- Nonetheless, life is very adaptable. It blooms where you least expect it, inexorable, stubbornly.

-Life perhaps, but mortals need a physical body to live, and that body needs natural laws to remain intact. -replied his brother.

-Oh, but my realm has laws! They're just different from yours. Here two parallel lines can unite in the end, here time and space don't go always hand in hand. Arda is the world that is obtained when two and two make four. My world, on the other hand, is what arises when a number is divided by zero. As for life, I'll show you something that will change your ideas.

The two Valar now descended a sheer wall to the bottom of a ravine, and once down there, Manwë could see a large arch that rose before them like an open mouth.  
Upon crossing it, he had the impression of having entered a mysterious realm inside the throat of a monster. Crystal arteries intersected above his head forming a dome, and fanciful structures sprouted from the floor, the ceiling and walls, animated by internal fluorescences. At one point, he thought he heard the fluttering of wings in the dark.  
The ground ended abruptly at the edge of some steep stairs carved into the rock, and Melkor guided him through them to a large circular space that opened below. There the structures twisted in even more impossible ways, resembling a tangled jungle, and from some of them hung strange crystal receptacles, oval and polished, as if they were the cocoons of some colossal insect.  
Manwë also discovered something else: huge and fragrant flowers of the most diverse colours sprouted here and there, and there weren't two alike, as if each had its own spirit. In terms of beauty, these flowers had nothing to envy to the best creations of Yavanna.  
But even more amazed was the Vala when he realized that these flowers were not the only beings who lived there. Crouched on the petals of one of them, a small creature was sipping its nectar, and the liquid gleamed through its skin while it traversed its veins. The creature resembled a kind of demon with membranous wings, and upon noticing the presence of Melkor, it yelped with joy and glided towards him to land on his shoulder.  
Manwë closed his eyes at such an act of temerity; certainly his brother would strike down at once that wretch who had dared to touch him. And even though the demon had a rather evil appearance, he didn't want it to die so cruelly.  
However, Melkor's voice sounded affectionate when addressing the creature, and Manwë reopened his eyes. The scene that he found in front, left him stunned.  
Melkor was smiling and stroking the head of the creature, while it kissed his cheek warmly. And both talked in the language of the Valar.

-Look, Manwë, here you have one of your nephews. –smiled Melkor, turning around to bask in the stupefaction of his brother.

Words entangled in the throat of the latter:

-Me ... Melkor ... but you ... it's not poss... You have created life!

-Indeed, they are my children. I call them "gwelrog", demons of the air. Sauron wanted to name them "glob-hai" in that stupid language he invented in Middle-earth, but... I suspect that it's a derogatory name. -he groaned through clenched teeth, twisting his mouth with suspicion.

-I'm so happy for you! -exclaimed Manwë, moved by the sight (somewhat disturbing) of Melkor caressing that eyesore.

He wanted to touch the creature as well. But when he moved his hand closer to the lock of bristly hair that grew on its head, the demon hissed aggressively, and a thousand spikes sprang from its body suddenly.

-They're not very friendly with strangers, are they?

-They only love me, their master and creator. -replied Melkor, and whispered a few words into the ear of the creature, which calmed and hid the spikes inside its skin.

They seemed dangerous and aggressive beings, and Manwë could imagine the havoc that a horde of them could cause, with those sharp teeth and claws, if they were allowed to roam through Arda. However, if Eru in his wisdom had thought fit for Melkor to create life, he wasn't one to question his decision.

-How can they survive in this inhospitable land? Do they only feed on the nectar of those flowers?

-Exactly. But the most ingenious thing is the origin of the flowers themselves. You see, Manwë, the flowers are them. -Melkor's eyes sparkled with complicity.- When my children reach a certain age, they weave around their bodies those cocoons of oval crystal that you have seen hanging from the constructions. They enter then a phase of deep hibernation, and emerge transformed into those flowers, to serve as nourishment for their own race. It is a kind of death, and at the same time, a rebirth. They can live for centuries as flowers, oblivious to all pain and worry, and each is transformed with a shape and colour in accordance to their personality in the previous life. But there always comes a day when the flower closes forever, and second death comes to them. Then Eru claims their souls, and I know nothing more. Such is the cycle of life for my children: they are animals, and minerals and plants, depending on the moment. And that has been allowed to me because I am the greatest of the Valar and I encompass all their powers in myself. Admit it, Manwë: I am the most magnificent of all the Ainur. Say it.

Manwë lowered his head. He didn't like to contribute to the pride of his brother, but he couldn't deny the obvious:

-Yes, Melkor, you are the most magnificent of all the Ainur.

And upon hearing this, from the mouth of a Manwë humbled and defeated by his splendour, Melkor felt a pleasure even greater than that which he experienced in bed with his lieutenant. He licked his lips; it had been a long time since he was thus aroused.  
As if he could perceive that aura of lust emanating from the body of the other Vala, Manwë coughed nervously and turned his attention to the gwelrog. Its appearance reminded him of the demons which he had seen drawn and carved by the men of Middle-earth, from the top of Taniquetil. And Varda, who heard everything, had explained to him that men blamed these imaginary demons for all evils that happened to them. Could it be that their image was a reminiscence of the power of Melkor in Arda, as a seed planted in the unconscious of those men?  
Another detail troubled the mind of Manwe:

-I see, brother, that your children are naked, but I cannot guess of which sex they are.

-They are of no sex. –replied Melkor, scratching the pleased creature behind the ear.- I mean, they have indeed a member like you and me, but usually it's hidden. Nevertheless…

-Do you want me to show it to you? -interrupted the demon, with a mischievous smile, but Manwë declined the generous offer.

\- ... Nonetheless, as I was saying, all of them can impregnate and be impregnated at the same time. Then they lay eggs and hatch from them. Thus they reproduce twice as fast. Very clever, don't you think?

-Yes, very clever ... –murmured Manwë, worried. If his brother had so much interest in that those monsters multiplied so fast, it could only be with the evil purpose of creating an army or something. Perhaps Eru wasn't thinking clearly when he allowed Melkor to create life, after all.- Does that mean they are of both sexes simultaneously?

-No, they are of no sex! How hard is that to understand for you? – replied Melkor, indignantly.

Of course, it wasn't easy to understand for Manwë: all rational beings, even incorporeal spirits as the Ainur, had a sex assigned to them since the beginning.  
This anomaly cast a doubt over Eru's consent in the creation of the gwelrog; perhaps his brother had done everything behind the back of Ilúvatar, through some mysterious means. Yes, that would explain a lot.

-Oh, so you doubt the legitimacy of my creations, don't you!? –snapped Melkor, as he let the demon free, which went away soaring.- Well, in that case you better ask Eru yourself!

And wrapping his brother in a flash of blood red, he transported him at breakneck speed to the lake of crystal where Eru used to manifest himself.  
Only this time, Eru decided to not manifest at all, no matter how much Melkor called him or how many stones he threw to the imperturbable surface of the lake.

-As always, very timely. –groaned the Vala, annoyed. And upon looking sideways at his brother, he sensed in him a certain incredulity.- I assure you I don't lie, damn it! Eru gave me permission to create my children, and he talks to me often!

Manwë winced at the outbreak of rage, and hurried to appease him, but deep inside he was glad to be right: if Eru barely communicated with him, who was his favourite, much less would he do it with Melkor, and of course, he had nothing to do with the creation of those evil gwelrog. Fortunately for him, Melkor had already turned his attention to another subject, and didn't read his mind.

-Let's take a bath, what do you think? I bet you've never bathed in a lake of liquid crystal. -and without notice, the Vala took off his robe before him and plunged into the lake.

Manwë blushed slightly; he didn't know why, Melkor's nakedness had always caused him a special prudery, even now that he wasn't confined to that body anymore.  
Seeing that he wavered on the shore, Melkor splashed him in challenge:

-Come on, you coward! Do not tell me that the lord of Taniquetil is afraid of the cold.

Manwë had no choice but to undress as well and dive into the lake, if he wanted his brother to stop mocking him.  
Melkor used the occasion to steal a glance at the body that uncovered for the first time before his eyes.  
Tanned skin, perfectly defined muscles, silver and manly hair covering his chest, and running down his stomach in a thin line, and sprouting with more strenght between his leg...  
Suddenly, Melkor felt pretty hot, despite the iciness of the lake.

-How can you bathe in here? It's like getting inside a block of ice. –protested Manwë, among shivers.

It was curious how that liquid crystal was wet like water.

-You are weak, brother! –and Melkor disappeared again under the surface, with a laugh. Manwë saw a white figure snaking towards him, and the other Vala emerged close to him... too close to him.- ... Although I must admit that this chill can be difficult to bear, even for the body of an Ainu. Look at this! -and Melkor pointed at his nipples, obscenely red and hardened by the cold.

Licking his lips with pleasure, he stroked then those of Manwë, to make sure they were just as hard. His poor brother felt incredibly uncomfortable and went away swimming to the other shore. Melkor used the distraction to grab the robe of Manwë, neatly folded on the ground, and throw it into the lake.

"Let's see what you'll wear now upon coming out, dear brother." -he laughed to himself.

Moments later, the face of Manwë while he wrung out his soaked clothes, told it all.

-I don't know what happened... They must have slid into the lake; this crystal is very slippery. -apologized Melkor, lying voluptuously along the shore, and still naked.- Lie here beside me while your robe dries. The warmth of that blue star is very nice upon the wet skin.

Manwë sighed; it wasn't as if he had much choice.  
Under normal conditions, it would have been as simple as disembodying and incarnating again in a body with a robe even more radiant than the previous one, but unfortunately that wasn't possible now.  
Thus, he accepted Melkor's offer and lay at a safe distance from him. However, his brother soon turned on the side and stared at him without much modesty.

-You are beautiful. -whispered the rebellious Vala- Thus naked, under the blue light that refracts in the wet drops on your body. And how couldn't you be beautiful if you're my brother? Some of my beauty must have reflected on you when you were created. And sometimes I think ... Sometimes I think that you were created for me, not for Varda. Maybe that's why she hated me so much from the beginning, because I was her rival in your heart. And I wonder, sometimes I wonder what would happen if she didn't stand in our way, if we could merge... into one.

Manwë glanced sideways at his brother, and upon seeing the flame of perverse passion dancing in his eyes, fear gripped him. He tried to say something, to react in some way, but all too late.  
The next second, he had Melkor above him, kissing his neck among sighs, running his hands across his body, and rubbing an increasingly swollen member against his own.  
Horrified, Manwë pushed his brother aside and ran to his clothes, not caring how wet they were still.  
Melkor laughed mischievously, seeing him dressing in such embarrassment:

-Oh, Manwë, don't tell me that you don't feel curiosity! You could also enjoy the pleasures of the flesh if you surrendered unto them. I would teach you how. Don't you want to know what it feels like to enter the body of another? Or how it feels when another enters yours and submits you to that delicious, indescribable humiliation? I could make you see stars that your frigid wife has not even heard about.

And saying this, Melkor spread his legs in such a way that his opening was left exposed, while his member began to show its purple, moist end.  
Outraged, Manwë grabbed his brother's black robe and threw it at his face.

-Cover yourself, for all that is sacred in Eä! I don't want to see your privates on the outside, let alone on the inside. And I thought that everything would be fine, that you would honour the truce and give me a break! But instead, you were just seeking an opportunity to attack me.

-Attack you? -replied Melkor, perplexed.- I only wanted to make love to you! What's wrong with that?

-Between two Ainur, two spirits that should be pure and that moreover are brothers? The question is what's not wrong with that horrible abomination!

-Psst! Again you get carried away by the ridiculous morality of Elves and Men. -snapped the other Vala, putting on his robe reluctantly.- There is no law that prevents us from getting together. After all, Mandos and Lórien are also brothers and fornicate all the time with each other. And not just with their usual bodies, but also in the most monstrous and unnatural shapes that you can imagine. Seriously, even for me it seems obscene the way they merge, with those tentacles and viscous orifices and...

-What are you talking about, Melkor!? Mandos and Lórien have never done anything like that.

-Of course they have, I've seen them doing it in my dreams!

Manwë shook his head disapprovingly.

-The fact that you have disturbing dreams about the Fëanturi, does not mean they have given themselves over to those perversions in reality.

-Oh, doesn't it? And who do you think that sends me those dreams, huh?

Manwë took it with resignation.  
Maybe it was time to return to the Undying Lands. At least he had managed to talk a little with his brother, make sure he was all right, and even move him to some occasional friendly gesture. It was true that in the end all that tolerance on the part of Melkor had been nothing more than a ruse to approach him with the worst intentions, and this left a bitter taste in his mouth. Still, Manwë should feel grateful for all that he had achieved. Better go now before things became nasty. Also, if he was too delayed, Varda and the others would start to worry.  
However, Melkor perceived his brother's intentions and hurried to stop him:

-Do not go yet. I promised that we would be brothers for one day, and look, that red star hasn't yet eclipsed the pale star. When it does, a whole day will have passed; thus we measure time here. Stay a little longer, and forget what happened in the lake. It was just a minor slip. You know that I'm lustful, and it's been too long since I contemplated a body other than mine and that of my lieutenant. I could not resist, and thought that you would enjoy it as well. Stay.

And the rebellious Vala put a hand on his shoulder, and looked at him so sincere, so honestly, that Manwë's heart could not help but soften and consent to his request.

-Besides, there's one last thing I want to show you. –added Melkor.

But this time, he allowed his brother to disembody and accompany him by his own means on the journey through the Void. Manwë had just spent a few hours locked inside his physical body, and yet it was enough to make him feel unbearably vulnerable. He would never fathom the pain and shame of his brother, who had suffered such a fate not for some hours, but for whole ages.

Floating a few meters above the plain, and silhouetted against the black mantle of the sky, a huge red crystal rose before them. It had the vague shape of a heart, and its light grew and waned in a sort of cosmic palpitations.  
As they approached the structure, Manwë started feeling all kinds of emotions, intense, inexplicable, confusing... As a strange mixture of fear, sadness, bliss, loneliness and warmth. And this effect was even more pronounced when the two Valar entered into the crystal and were wrapped in a light red and fluid as blood.

-Welcome to my heart. Now listen carefully. –announced Melkor.

And among the throbbings and rare flashes, a music started to filter and spread through each cavity of the crystal, and it reverberated and repeated itself, each time with a different nuance, with a different tone. It was a music that Manwë knew very well, although he had only heard it once, and wouldn't hear it again.

-The Music of the Ainur ... How is it that we can hear it?

-The Music still continues to spread through the empty spaces of Eä, as a background vibration. In the absolute silence you can hear it if you pay attention; not so in the bustling Arda. I discovered this, and discovered how to encapsulate and magnify it inside this crystal. What do you think, Manwë? Don't you believe that my part is the best of all?

The Music of the Ainur had never seemed so beautiful for Manwë. And strangely, now that he could listen to it more carefully, he no longer perceived any disharmony in it. The theme of Melkor merged with that of the other Valar perfectly, not opposing, but completing the whole. Why hadn't he realized this back then? Why had it seemed then such a hostile theme? Why had he felt the need to fight against it?  
In that moment, Manwë understood many things, and began to sob.

-Oh! But what are you crying for, brother?

-For everything, Melkor, for everything. For you, for me, for what could have been but never was. For the lost time, for the history of Arda. For the long defeat... Perchance are our fates sealed, can't free will change our doom?

And then, to his infinite astonishment, the pale arms of his brother surrounded him gently. Melkor was embracing him.

-Free will is the most beautiful of lies, Manwë. Nothing else. -he whispered, caressing his hair.- The two of us were a unit at first, but we were hopelessly separated, as one who breaks an egg and separates the yolk from the white. And there are two things in this world that once broken can never be mended: eggs... and hearts.

Manwë raised his head and fixed his blue stare on the eyes of his brother; there was no more fire or evil in them, only the faint red glow of the crystal.

-But you said that rules were different here, that in your realm two parallel lines could unite in the end. What if it was united, what was always opposed?

Melkor felt a strong tremor through his whole being. And when he looked down, he saw that their spirits had disembodied in part and started fusing with each other.

-Oh, Manwë, but what are you doing to me! The incident in the lake seemed inappropriate to you, and this doesn't?

-No, this is different. It's more intimate, but more pure.

-And are you sure you want it? You will see my soul, you will see my heart and meet darkness. I've seen the light, but you know nothing of darkness. It will terrify you.

-About that, dear brother, I care little.

And with a final thrust of the will, both spirits disappeared in a mutual embrace.

Far away from there, Sauron and Gothmog dried the sweat from their foreheads while they faced the tedious task of leading the gwelrog in the building of a fortress. Melkor had insisted on rising it with huge blocks of diamond, there on the border of his kingdom, fearing an attack of the Ainur who had never entered Arda and lived in the farthest regions of Eä. Those Ainur had always been very peaceful, entirely preoccupied with the care of some star or nebula. But lately Melkor had been bothering them more than necessary, crossing their borders without permission, obscuring the light of their stars, or stealing certain materials and strange metals which he lacked in his kingdom. Therefore, paranoia had seized him and now he wanted a fortress around every corner. The problem wasn't only that it was very complicated to cut those blocks of hard diamond, but the gwelrog were anything but diligent workers. Not even the collaboration of the other Balrog helped much.  
For the umpteenth time, the fire whip of Gothmog snapped under the nose of a gwelrog, who slept hidden behind a block.

-Accursed flying pest! The next one I catch slacking off during work hours, I turn it into another block of the structure! -roared the Balrog, and turned to his impassive partner.- Gorthaur, how do you put up with this?

-With stoicism. -he said, shrugging.- I assure you that sometimes I also feel like skinning them with the whip. But I try to restrain myself and reserve such punishments for special occasions. They fear and respect you more when they are unsure about when the blow will come, than when you constantly yell at them.

-Buf! Seriously, I never thought the day would come when I would miss the Orcs. Sometimes I wish that Melkor hadn't returned me my body, and had left me wandering around with nothing to do.

Sauron rolled his eyes.

-Don't complain so much, Gothmog. Yes, I know they're somewhat unsufferable, but they are the creatures of Melkor, and he loves them and doesn't like them to be mistreated. We must be patient. Furthermore, even though you don't like them, they like you indeed... -and the Maia made an eloquent gesture for him to look behind, with a fang sticking out in half a sly smile.

Gothmog reacted too late, and a cloud of gwelrog swirled around, landing on him, or embracing him.

-Gothmog, Gothmog! How's it going on, Gothmog? –shouted one of them in his ear, as if the Balrog was deaf.

-Come to play, Gothmog! Don't make us build that fortress, come on. –took part another, pulling his arm.

-Yes, at the end of the day, the father Melkor can finish it in a second if he wants. He just makes us work to keep us busy! -groaned a third, circling over the head of its victim.

-Give me a kiss, Gothmog! -proposed yet another, bringing its slimy mouth near the Balrog's cheek, before he scared it away with a slap.

-Hey, show us your huge member. We want to see it! -laughed the most daring of all, messing with his belt buckle.

Gothmog, his patience already exhausted, let out a roar that shook the towers of diamond to the pinnacle, and exploded in an enormous ball of fire and curses against the creatures. The gwelrog then fled in disarray, some of them slightly charred, and they were left in peace.  
The Balrog's chest rose and fell among rapid breathing, and he turned his face, inflamed with anger, toward Sauron. The lieutenant looked at him between amused and ironic.

-What!? What happens with you, Gorthaur!?

-So, "huge member", huh? -smiled the Maia, with malice.

-Oh, get lost, curse you!

At that time, a colossal explosion shook the whole plain and interrupted their discussion. On the horizon, roughly over the heart of crystal, rose a column of blue and scarlet brilliance, ominous as a manifestation of Dagor Dagorath.  
The two Maiar blinked astonished at the whirlwind, so immense that its top disappeared into the blackness of the sky.

-Perfect, now they're fighting! I knew this would happen sooner or later. I told the lord Melkor that it wasn't a good idea to reunite with Manwë. -hissed Sauron between his teeth- We better go over there. Melkor might need us.

Within a second, the Maia metamorphosed into a giant bat and flew to the place of the incident. But the angry shouts of the Balrog stopped him.

-Wait for me, Gorthaur, you stupid winged rat! I cannot fly!

-Perhaps it is high time for you to learn to disembody and change shape, don't you think, dear Gothmog? You've been in the world, for how long? Since the beginning of time? You could have developed a pair of wings over all these years.

-Let's not start again that discussion of whether Balrogs should have wings or not! I swear, if I hear another word about it, I will fry you with a flare and will serve you as rancid meat for the gwelrog.

Sauron snorted in resignation and descended to the ground, spreading his wings before the demon.

-Ride on me, you idiot Balrog. I'll bring you flying.

-I'm not going to ride you, Gorthaur!

-Worse for you, because I would give you the ride of your life. -scoffed Sauron, knowing that his partner wouldn't get the double entendre behind his words.- But in that case, you leave me no choice but to do this...

And before Gothmog had a chance to defend himself, the bat dug his claws into his shoulders and raised him in the air, ignoring the thousand curses that reached him from below.  
However, when they finally reached the heart of crystal, the spectacle they found was very different from what they had expected. The pillar of fire wasn't the result of any cataclysmic battle between the two Valar. Under the night sky, the disembodied spirits of Manwë and Melkor revolved in harmonious revolutions, absorbed in some primordial and incomprehensible dance. Melkor made iridescent flares to spring up, and his brother shaped them with hurricane winds and elevated them as the column they had seen from afar. They left blue and red tails in their path.

-But what are they doing!? -exclaimed Gothmog, not believing his eyes, and still recovering from his dizzy ride through the air.

-Nothing. Valar things. Things we will never understand. –murmured Sauron.

And then, an old sorrow struck his heart and his face turned somber. The Balrog, though not much observant, noticed the change in his partner.

-Are you feeling alright? Lately you get these sudden strokes of melancholy, what is it about?

-About what I said before, that there are things which we will never understand... When I lived still in Arda I believed to be in control of everything, I believed to have a rational explanation for each and every one of the phenomena of the world, even for the irrational ones. But now ... I'm not so sure anymore. And I don't know if light will be only shed upon my understanding after the end, or on the contrary, there will be just more darkness.

Gothmog snorted impatiently.

-Gorthaur, tell me what really happens to you and don't beat about the bush.

Sauron smiled sadly.

-Alright, you got me. It is because of that man, my old servant. I think I found him in dreams. I closed my eyes, and suddenly I was in a meadow in front of a hill. There were many humans around me, resting on the grass, conversing peacefully, playing... And even though all of them were naked, they didn't seem to give it any importance. I climbed the hill, and on its top I found a large oak tree and a man sitting under its shadow; he was beautiful and had gray eyes. He greeted me saying: "I have been waiting for thee, master". I replied that I didn't know him at all. Then he made a pass with his hand before his face: "Perhaps thou rememberst me rather like this." And for a moment, I saw him as he had been back then, when he was my servant; he didn't seem less beautiful for me thus. At that time, a young woman approached, also naked, with blond hair so long that it covered her breasts. She knelt beside the man, kissed him on the cheek and placed a wreath of braided flowers on his head. "She is my sister," he explained. The girl smiled, lowering her eyes with some shyness, and then left us alone. Thereafter I sat next to my servant, surrounded him with my arms, and carried by an irresistible impulse, I kissed him. We made love under the oak, and although some men approached the hill, all went away calmly when they realized we needed privacy, no one protested, no one stole malicious or lecherous glances at us. The same would have been if we were only talking. I embraced that frail body that had gone through all the vicissitudes of the earth for me, and when I penetrated him, he sighed. The scent of flowers filled my nose. Was this one last call from the being who had sacrificed everything for loyalty? Another example of unwavering love that must endure even after death? Or just the phantom of guilt and longing? I wish I knew if it was real or not. There are so few things I know, I, who got pride in knowing it all... I guess I'm just a foolish Maia who can't fathom the recesses of hearts. But upon waking, the smell of those flowers still floated in the air.

A pale gleam crossed the glass eye of Sauron, and Gothmog nodded in silence. The Balrog turned back toward the ecstatic dance in the sky of Melkor and his brother. Before such spectacle, one could only shrug:

-Well, sometimes the Valar are also foolish, don't you think?

The cycle of the twin stars was reaching its end, and Melkor began to feel weariness and desire to return to his palace. Besides, that would be the ideal place to conclude the visit and bid farewell to his brother.  
Once on the platform that opened under both stars, Melkor threw himself on his bed and pointed to an empty space next to him for Manwë to lie down as well. The other Vala rolled his eyes.

-Melkor! How many times should I repeat to you that I won't do any of those dirty things with you?

-It's not about that, you idiot! I just want you to stay here besides me and tell me things until I fall asleep. You lost your chance to do dirty things with me, and I won't give you another.

Manwë had no choice but to agree to the wishes of Melkor, and lay on the bed. Moreover, he also needed a rest and a more relaxed atmosphere after the extraordinary events within the crystal heart. That experience had exhausted him spiritually, and it would take him some time to assimilate it.

-Well, anything to please my little brother...

Melkor frowned furious:

-How is it "little brother"!? We were created at the same time, so we are coeval, twins! In any case, I would be the older brother, since I'm the most powerful.

-Come on, Melkor, you have always tried to draw the attention of the whole world, compete with me before the eyes of our father Eru and take away what was mine. You're egocentric, capricious and impatient. You're the eternal little brother!

Manwë let out a laugh and Melkor opened his mouth to reply, but in the end he could only clench and grind his teeth with irritation.

-Stop the nonsense or I will lock you again inside a hole in the ground! Now tell me: how's it going in Arda? Eru tells me some things, but I suspect that he hides many others, and always speaks with too much ambiguity. I showed you my kingdom in exile, now it's your turn to inform me about my other kingdom.

The beaming face of Manwë turned serious in a moment, and he looked down.

-Arda... It's not that it's going bad but... Well, Middle-earth belongs entirely to Men now, and Elves no longer have any contact with them. It is a pity that the children of Eru have ended up thus, divided. However, recently something unheard of happened: a man managed to cross the Straight Path in his ship and reached the shores of Tol Eressëa. Aelfwine he was called, and I suspect that he had some of Eärendil's blood in his veins. It was a happy event, that one of the Secondborn came in contact with the Eldar, learned the stories of ancient times, and could transmit them to his fellow men upon his return. It causes me great sorrow to see how Men of today have forgotten us, the Valar, and some even persecute and burn at the stake the few who still worship us. What will become of them if they depart from the gods? -Manwë shook his head, worried.

-They will invent new gods. After all, real or imagined, for them they're all the same. Your concern therefore is not for what might happen to Men, but for what might happen to you, isn't it? What you feel, dear brother, is not altruism, but something much more basic: the pain of being relegated, the shattered pride.

Melkor smiled eloquently and Manwë blushed a little. He had a point.

-Yes, but... It's not just that. Oh, you should see the terrible things they do there in Middle-earth! Wars, death, cruelty... I thought all that would end with the expulsion of the Dark Lords, of your lieutenant and... well, of you.

-Ah, and now you understand that reality is more ugly and cruel than you thought at first! Well, I see that you're getting older, "little brother".

Manwë bit his lip, ashamed. Apparently, his joke about who was the older and who was the younger had reverted on his head.

The interspersed light that bathed them acquired then a crimson tinge. The red star had almost finished to hide the pale star. A heavy drowsiness came over Melkor, and he stretched his arms, yawning. Then he turned to his brother and whispered:

-The day is over and with it your visit. Cherish this moment; the next time we meet it will be as rivals.

And he stroked his cheek with melancholy. Manwë's eyes opened wide in amazement:

-Do you know that? I believed that only Mandos and myself were aware of... you know, the end after the end. Then Eru told you about it too?

-No, no, he didn't tell me anything about it. But one day he fixed his gaze into my eyes, and I understood some things in that moment. It would be hard to explain.

Manwë rubbed his temples, afflicted.

-I understand... Well, it's bound to happen. We will meet as rivals, yes, but as far as I'm concerned, not as enemies.

Melkor's lips outlined an enigmatic smile, and closing his eyes, he fell into a deep slumber.  
Manwë observed him in silence for a few minutes, with grief, with love. He brushed a strand of hair that had fallen over his eyelids, and kissed him on the forehead. Then an icy gust enveloped him, and when he looked up, he found Melkor's lieutenant, Sauron the Abhorred, slowly descending upon the bedhead and crouching on it. The black cloak floated around him like the wings of a huge raven.

-Well, well! Here I have my lord and his dear brother, together in the same bed. Am I interrupting something? -he said, showing a pair of beastly fangs.

Manwë stirred nervously and in a sudden state of alert. He didn't like that Maia in the slightest, he had never liked him: his cruel coldness, his soulless paleness, his eyes...

-It's not what you're thinking. –muttered the Vala.

Sauron let out a wry laugh:

-I already know it's not like that. What binds me to my lord is something that nothing and nobody can compete with.

Manwë frowned, but he only managed to make the Maia's grin even more evident.

-What have you come for, Sauron?

-Oh! That is a question that befits me more than thee.

-I came because Eru gave me permission, and Melkor was fully aware of it. I thought you knew it as well.

-And so it is. My lord keeps me informed... of almost everything, at least. But I haven't asked thee about the fact that thou hast come here, which is obvious, but about the reason. What are thy motivations? Didst thou want to check if Melkor still posed a threat to Arda, if he suffered, if he was finished, dead? Didst thou want to gloat over thy triumph?

Two blue flashes crossed Manwë's eyes, indignant at such insinuations.

-For whom do you take me!? Do you really think I'm so mean? Only someone like you could take delight in the suffering of others, Gorthaur the Cruel!

-Indeed, I find great delight in seeing thee like that, with thy robes tattered, without thy beard, without thy splendour. -scoffed the Maia, squinting with feline malice.

-You are a sadist! And I suspect it was you who corrupted my brother. He was always ambitious and chaotic, it's true. But the appetite for torture, for cruelty, for blood, that he must have learned from you! They're passions too debased for a Vala.

Sauron raised his eyebrows in mocking surprise.

-Really! So thou thinkest it was me who corrupted Melkor, the Mighty Arising... Thou flatterst me too much, Manwë. Usually people believe that it was exactly the other way around. Anyway, I think there is other, much more mundane reason for thou finding me so unsympathetic. It's because I sleep with thy brother, isn't it? It's because I, a simple Maia, have the privilege of possessing the greatest of the Valar. Because I can enter him, and thrust hard to make him scream my name, and defile the last recess of his flesh, and see him thus, desperate, pleading, surrendered to me. Thou hatest me for the things I do to him, and above all, thou hatest me because thou knowest that he likes those things, right? -Sauron licked his fangs and stretched voluptuously on the bedhead, like a satisfied cat.

Manwë closed his eyes tightly, disgusted by the obscenities he had to listen. Why wouldn't that evil Maia just leave, why wouldn't he let him alone with his brother and their pure brotherly love? Everything was perfect until he arrived.

-Looks like I struck a nerve. -continued the lieutenant.- Does this subject upset thee so much? However, thou mustest have seen it all from the top of Taniquetil, am I right? When night falls upon Valinor, when Varda goes away to look after her stars, hast thou not climbed to the snowy summit alone, to spy on our bedchamber affairs? Hast thou not contemplated us in our most secret intimacy? With curiosity, with fear, with envy... perhaps with desire?

-Stop it, not a single word more! –burst Manwë, and sitting up in bed, he turned his back to Sauron and buried his face in his hands.- You just want to torment me.

-Of course. I'm a sadist, dost thou remember? But thou mustest know something else. I haven't just given pleasure to thy brother, I have also given him something much more important: I have given him my heart, I have given him all the love and devotion that I could find in this cold heart of glass. -the Vala turned to his interlocutor, surprised. The wicked grin had been replaced by a serious expression on the face of Sauron.- Thanks to me, Melkor has become aware of the existence of the "other." Because at first, for Melkor there was only Melkor, and the extensions of the power of Melkor. Only by uniting with me, he realized that there were others in this world, other individuals who could complement him. I pulled him out from his solipsism, out from the spiral of destruction in which he had fallen, and that would have led him to destroy everything that was alien to Melkor, and finally, Melkor himself. I showed to him that one only exists fully when he is reflected and magnified in another. I saved him from himself.

-Because love conquers all?

-It doesn't sound very original, but it is so.

Manwë let out a long sigh, and looked thoughtfully at his brother.

-I see what you mean. Sorry, it's just that... well, I always wanted Melkor to find a spouse but...

-But thou hadst something else in mind, right? A sweet, patient and beautiful Valië, not a renegade Maia who made his living whipping Orcs. But does it matter so much who I am? At the end of the day, this dark Maia has brought a light to Melkor that thy anodyne Valië could have never brought.

Manwë nodded in silence, adrift among his thoughts. The light that fell upon them acquired then a deep red tone, and looking up, the Vala found out that the conjunction of the two stars was complete at last.

-I have to depart.

-Yes.

Manwë reached for the sleeping figure of Melkor, but Sauron stopped him.

-It's better that thou dost not awaken him. The departure will be easier that way.

The Vala agreed. And throwing one last wistful glance at his brother, he turned away and began his long journey to Valinor.  
Sauron followed with his eyes the blue clarity of Manwë while he disappeared in the horizon, and then went on to occupy the empty space he had left on the bed besides his lord.  
After a while he heard him stretching, and Melkor looked at him surprised, upon opening his eyes and finding him there.

-Sauron! What are you doing in my bed?

-Thou speakest as if I hadn't been in thy bed a hundred times.

-Alright, I'll say it another way: What are you doing in my bed with _those dirty boots?_

The Maia looked down. Indeed, the black leather had turned gray due to the dust raised by the gwelrog while building the fortress.

-It's part of the job. And in any case, I should be the one to ask thee what was doing Manwë, thy sworn enemy, lying here next to thee.

Melkor narrowed his eyes, grinning, and approaching the Maia, he run his hand under the shirt and stroked his stomach gently. Sauron tensed when he felt those sensual fingers coursing his skin.

-Oh! But what is that? Are you jealous, mmm? Quite on the contrary, it should be me who feels jealousy. After all, I know you haven't been entirely faithful lately, at least in your thoughts. -and the mouth of the Vala closed on the rigid lips of Sauron, provocative, threatening.

Now to the previous tension of the Maia, joined a cold sweat that began to form on his forehead.  
"So he knew it!"  
Melkor chuckled and pulled back a little to let him breathe. Seeing that troubled expression on his lieutenant was a pleasure that he could rarely enjoy.

-Don't worry, Sauron. There are corners of the soul that one keeps to himself and does not share with anyone, not even with his lord. You are mine, but that corner keep it for you, for whatever you want, for _whomever_ you want. I must also keep mine.

With that said, the Vala stood up as if it was nothing and straightened his robe.  
He examined the horizon for the last trail left by Manwë in his departure, but there was no longer any trace of him. A heartfelt sigh escaped from his chest, and then he felt the hand of his lieutenant on his shoulder.

-Tell me, my lord, this whole affair with Manwë, all this supposed kindness and affection for him, it was nothing but a farce right? An elaborate plan to seduce him and achieve thy purposes, am I right?

Melkor turned to him with a shy smile.

-Well, it was so... _at first._

The asymmetrical eyes of Sauron opened wide, and Melkor directed again his attention to the plain.  
The lieutenant watched him in silence for a few seconds until he recovered the ability to speak:

-My lord, promise me one thing.

-What?

-That thou wilt never stop to surprise me.

And the devilish spark that danced in the eyes of the Vala, was all the confirmation he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The derogatory name that Sauron wanted to use for the gwelrog, "glob-hai", is Black Speech for "fool-folk", more or less. Yes, he likes them so much.
> 
> Aelfwine: The English sailor who arrived in Tol Eressëa and recorded the legends of the First Age. He was present in the legendarium since the Book of Lost Tales. However, Cristopher Tolkien removed his figure from the published Silmarillion to simplify the narrative, and because we had already Bilbo's "Translations from the Elvish" to explain the transmission of the legends. I decided to keep him anyway, because Tolkien never erased him explicitly from the legendarium and his story is not necessarily contradictory with that of Bilbo.


	11. Appendix 3: The Three Gods in the Garden of Poppies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, here's the third and last appendix. Remember how this whole story began, back in the halls of Mandos? Well, this is Melkor's revenge...
> 
> Warnings: following the model of the first appendix, this chapter is rather a PWP made for the sake of the unlikely pairings that Internet has forgotten. It includes explicit sex, non-con, incest, voyeurism, sex with monsters, threesomes and many wtf moments...yeah.

_Or maybe it wasn’t a dream. Funny it was anyway._

-Sam (The Lord of the Rings: "The Great River")

When Melkor closed his eyes, he didn’t find himself in Angband anymore.  
Suddenly, the black rock walls had been replaced by twisted trunks of trees, the chains with hooks and traces of blood by languid stems from which hanged fragrant flowers, and the hordes of Orcs, by luminous insects and shy creatures that hid in the shadows. That forest was plunged into an eternal twilight, and in the air floated the dense and sweet aroma of the dreams of poppies. Melkor had the impression of having been there before, of having been there many times, perhaps since forever. But never so consciously, never in a way so real. This time he could perceive every detail, every leaf, every smell, every whisper, as if he really had been brought there.  
Although of course, that was impossible. The gardens of Lórien were forbidden to him since his rebellion, like the rest of Aman. Thus, the only possible explanation was that he was dreaming.  
Shrugging, Melkor began to stroll through the forest: since he was trapped in that stupid dream, what else could he do? At first he entertained himself trampling each fluorescent mushroom and tearing each flower that he found in his path, amused by the unnecessary destruction. But thereafter he began to get bored of this pastime; after all, mushrooms or flowers couldn’t utter cries of suffering nor beg for mercy.  
Then he heard two voices, vaguely familiar, conversing in a glade and covered by the thick undergrowth around them. Alarmed all of a sudden, Melkor approached to spy from behind a tree. As soon as he saw the mysterious intruders, his mouth twisted into a grimace. There was the obnoxious Mandos, and his equally obnoxious brother Lórien, talking in low voices about those kind of stupidities with which the Valar got busy these days:

-The light of this glade is similar to that of my halls. –commented Mandos impassively, though his gaze was fixed in that of his brother, rather than in his surroundings.- But there the shadows are of a different kind, there the shadows creep and groan with despair.

Lórien nodded, absorbed.

-Yes, it's the twilight of the two Trees. I captured it among the branches of my forest in the moment in which the mingling of lights was more beautiful: 457 years, 210 days, 5 hours, 31 minutes and 40 seconds after their creation.

-Wasn’t it always equally beautiful?

-No, at that moment it was more than ever. I perceive these things, you do not. -from where he was hiding, Melkor noticed a strange flashing in the grey eyes of Lórien.

Mandos then placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, and taking the hem of his robe, he slid it down his body to his ankles, exposing the white nakedness of the other Vala. And while he stroked his nipple, he continued with that eccentric conversation, that for the Fëanturi must have seemed the most normal thing in the world.

-I, on the other side, have perceived our own twilight.

-That, brother, is a weight that I don’t want to carry.

Mandos leaned down and began to lick the nipple, a little hard already, before the attentive though somewhat indifferent look of Lórien.  
Melkor opened and closed his eyes several times to make sure he wasn’t seeing a mirage. In the name of Arda, what was going on there!? Now he understood that behind those anodyne words, another conversation quite different had been taking place between the two Valar. A conversation in their minds, probably full of lewd obscenities. But he didn’t dare to interfere in it; no, if he did they could discover him.  
Mandos’ tongue was still busy with the nipple, but his right hand had moved down Lórien’s leg, and now caressed with meticulous precision his inner thigh. Melkor had known in his flesh that cold, heartless precision, and seeing now his former jailer repeating his techniques in another body, filled him with anger and pain because of the memory... but also filled him with other feelings.  
And Lórien was beautiful, oh, yes, definitely! In his opinion, the most beautiful of the male Valar. And so unlike his brother! Graceful, delicate, silver-haired, silver as the hair between his legs. The thin blue veins ran under the alabaster skin of his belly, and now began to swell along a delicious member.  
Melkor licked his lips, entranced by the perverse spectacle. It was assumed that the Valar were pure, elevated above carnal passions. Moreover above passions that would have been labeled by many as incestuous. Such satisfaction, finding corruption right there in the heart of Aman! And hadn’t been he who had awakened the impurity in Mandos? Wasn’t he entitled to enjoy that scene? At the end of the day, it was just a dream. One of "those" dreams.  
Suddenly, the front of his robe seemed tighter and narrower.

Lórien had closed his eyes, and smiled with a blissful joy. His fingers dug into the hair of his brother, who kissed his stomach, lower and lower, while his hand followed its path along his thigh, higher and higher.  
The left hand of Melkor, meanwhile, had slipped under his robe with self determination, and now moved up and down, more and more furiously.

"What a disgusting hypocrisy! Look at those swines submitted to the filthiest lust. If I did anything like that everyone would say I'm corrupt, but since it’s the Valar doing it must be approved? I wish Manwë could see this! Maybe then they would lock up Mandos in the halls that are named after him for being so perverted. Oh, look at him! His lips have reached the pubis of his brother. He is kissing him there! And the member of the other is so hard ... Ah, it’s almost touching his lips! How disgusting, how disgusting is all of this! " -said Melkor to himself, without realizing that his breathing was speeding up dangerously, and sweat ran down his forehead, and the first wet drops were dripping down his hand.- "I wonder if he will dare to put it in his mouth... And where is his hand? Oh, it's not possible, he has it between his buttocks and is caressing his opening! Lórien licks his lips, the degenerate. Mmmm! I wonder if he has ever been penetrated or not. No, no, certainly not. He must have the hole so tight, so hot, so eager... Oh, oh, oh, there he goes, he’s running his tongue over the tip of his... "

It was all very sudden and unexpected. A violent pleasure shook Melkor's body, his legs buckled, forcing him to lean on the tree behind which he was hiding, and an "Oh!" of surprise escaped his lips as a warm fluid poured down his arm and stomach.  
Mandos and Lórien, paralyzed, had left the sizzling thing between their hands, and now watched Melkor in the most undignified position, with his own thing still dripping between his hand.  
The rebellious Vala felt how blood drained from his lower parts and rushed to his cheeks. He had never felt so ridiculous and ashamed.  
Mandos stood up and smoothed his robe solemnly:

-You have the most curious way to announce your arrival, Melkor.

-Welcome. –mediated Lórien, with a charming smile.- You are our guest, so we were waiting for you.

Melkor looked alternatively atone and the other, not knowing well what to say. In fact, given the circumstances, whatever he said would sound stupid.

-Shut up! -he groaned at last, and tried to regain some of his lost dignity covering his privates again and wiping his hand on the bark of the tree.  
He almost felt how the plant cringed upon touching the fluid, all its holiness of the Undying Lands thus profaned.

-Come with us, Melkor, join our game. -offered Lórien.- We both want to make love to you.

Melkor was stunned. For a moment he wondered about the perfidious machinations that plotted those two. Though on the other hand, this was his dream right? Why wouldn’t they want to make love to him?  
He took a tentative step toward the glade where the two Valar awaited him: the one somber, cruelly cold and dressed in black, the other white, naked and with a certain air of perverse effeminacy.  
Melkor wasn’t sure which of the two was more dangerous.  
Before he could repent of what he was doing, his feet had taken him directly into the clutches of his enemies. The Fëanturi smiled upon noticing his limp, Mandos with irony and Lórien with compassion.

-You have been hurt, Melkor. Poor, poor child of Eru, disowned by his brothers, odious to the eyes of the world! -whispered the Lord of Dreams, standing behind him and stroking his cheek with incredible sweetness.

Melkor shuddered; never a caress had seemed to him so comforting, so redemptive.

-I suspect ye are going to betray me. Ye are the dogs of the Valar. The only thing ye want is to deceive me, abuse me and take advantage of my body, and then deliver me to my enemies. -he sighed, closing his eyes and surrendering, much to his chagrin, to the irresistible caresses.

He had left his neck exposed, and Mandos kissed his Adam’s apple.

-I told you once that Death has no enemies, have you forgotten? –he whispered, running his finger along his collarbone.

-You never told me that.

\- I will, eventually. When one has such precise knowledge as mine about the bends in the flow of history, it’s not always easy to distinguish past and future.

Then, without warning, Mandos opened the clasp that held Melkor's robe over his shoulder, and his clothes fell to the ground with a thud. Melkor was startled upon feeling the cold air hitting against his skin. No one had seen him naked since the fight with Fingolfin had disfigured his body. He didn’t even know how he would show himself to Sauron when he returned from Tol-in-Gaurhoth, because someday he would have to return. And even for him it was very painful to see the ugly scars that crossed his nakedness. Therefore, his first reaction was covering himself with his hands, full of shame.  
Mandos let out a biting laugh and pushed away his arms to behold him.

-How different is this from the virgin body I made mine in the old days of the Trees! I see I wasn’t the only one who has penetrated your flesh, Melkor. So have done swords as well.

Melkor didn’t know how to defend himself; he was confused, intimidated and at disadvantage, numbed by the scents that clung in the air, vaguely aroused.  
Lórien pressed against his back, enclosing him in an embrace and brushing him with his warm skin and the soft hair of his crotch.

-You have 10 wounds on your body and 5,645 wounds in your soul. -he murmured, and followed the scar of his shoulder among kisses.

His brother, meanwhile, gently nibbled his throat and pinched his nipples, leaving a trail of exquisitely painful fire in every inch of skin he touched. Melkor bit his lip to stifle a moan.  
It was wrong, prostituting himself to the Valar in such a way was wrong, and enjoying it was even worse. But in any case, it was a dream, right?, so actually he didn’t need to feel guilty, isn’t it? Yes, it was just a dream.

-It is and it is not. -said Lórien then, who had read his thoughts.- It depends on the perspective from which you look at it.

-That makes no sense!

-It makes for me.

Melkor felt confused. He was totally exposed to the prying eyes of the Fëanturi, not only in body, but apparently, also in soul, that they were able to read like an open book. And this worried him.  
Lórien’s member entered surreptitiously between his legs, stroking his balls and his opening as a cruel temptation. Melkor could not hold back the moan in his throat. Mandos was running his tongue along the scar on his chest, moving close to his nipple without touching it, and descending through the other wound in his hip with excruciating slowness. Impatient, he threw his hips forward with the hope that his cock, hard again, brushed something more than air. And finally he was rewarded when the burning tongue reached his crotch, licking both Lórien’s member as well as everything else in its path.

-Mmmm! Ye are sick, ye two, did ye know? -sighed the rebellious Vala through clenched teeth.

-And you are very much in need, Melkor. –scoffed Mandos, sending the vibrations of his words through the tortured member.- Have you seen, brother, how his body responds differently than that of the other Valar? How his flesh is real flesh? How his desire is real desire, burning, desperate, brutally honest?

Lórien ran his nose through his hair:

-Yes, brother, he smells different.

-Tell me, Melkor, how long has it been since somebody satisfied you, if someone has done it after me? -continued the Judge of the Valar, and dug his nails in the inner part of his thigh, as always measuring with the accuracy of a balance the adequate amounts of pleasure and pain.

Melkor closed his eyes, hurt. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair that his enemy knew so well each nerve and each sensitive corner of his body. But hadn’t been he who had first imprinted those sensations in his flesh, hadn’t he molded him to his liking, rousing the areas that interested him?

-You're wrong, Mandos, if you believe that I don’t have at my disposal countless servants in Angband, that please me every day as many times as I want.

-Who, the Orcs?

-Better Orcs than you!

-We'll see…

And before Melkor could react, the two brothers lay him face up on the grass. Lórien pinned his arms to the floor, although nonetheless he kept kissing his forearms to calm him, and Mandos spread his legs abruptly and with obvious intentions.  
Melkor groaned in pain as the damaged muscles of his leg were thus forced. This had gone too far, and for nothing in the world he would allow that hateful Vala to profane him again. He may be trapped in that body, but still he remained the greatest of all the Ainur, the one who imposed his Music above all the others, yes, above Eru’s theme even! It was time to scorch those two insolent amidst a large fireball, and reduce to ashes their physical forms.  
Unfortunately, his powers were bound by some mysterious force emanating from the forest itself, and he found himself powerless against the Fëanturi. The dream had become a nightmare, and much to his chagrin he realized that there was nothing he could do now to avoid what was coming.

Melkor moaned in pain when Mandos’ member broke through him mercilessly, and a tear fell down his cheek. Why had he to relive that, his darkest hour, the worst of the5,645 wounds of his soul?  
The Vala pushed his legs to the chest to reach his ear, and a voice sharp as a knife whispered:

-You lied, Melkor. You've been very lonely. I can feel it in the pain of your entrails.

Melkor threw his head back, squirming desperate and unable to flee:

-All right, all right, it’s true, you win!! No one has touched me in a long time! I haven’t seen my lieutenant in eight years: a sigh for the spirit of an Ainu, but an eternity for a body of flesh and bone. Are you happy now!? -he sobbed, unable to hold back the tears any longer.

Lórien frowned, worried:

-Brother, you're hurting him. Why are you so evil? We have nothing against him. We forgave him 505 years, 332 days, 3 hours and 36 minutes ago.

-I'm not evil. I do what I should, and my duty is beyond good and evil. -replied Mandos coldly and without slowing the pace of his thrusts, ignoring the cries of his victim.

In that moment, the twilight darkened suddenly, a shudder ran through the branches of the trees, and the perfume of the air turned denser, almost suffocating.  
When Lórien spoke, his voice was terrible and different:

-¡Námo Mandos, remember to whom belong these domains! I order you to stop.

Furrowing his brow in annoyance, Mandos stopped dead and left the body of Melkor, with another whimper from him.  
The shattered Vala rolled onto his side, closed his legs and covered his face still sobbing. Twinges of pain seared him inside and outside. Lórien stroked his hair tenderly and placed his head on his lap; at some time the crown of Silmarils had fallen without him even noticing.  
Thanks to the strange virtue of Lórien’s caresses, the rebellious Vala soon regained his calmness and fell into a pleasant numbness of the senses.

-Your pain is a chrysalis that someday will tear. Then the moth will fly into the flame, but won’t be consumed by it. -whispered the Lord of Dreams. His voice entered him as a sweet vapour of opium smell.

-And what does that mean? –murmured Melkor, closing his eyes.

-He means that all suffering is temporary, because the end will come to our bodies of flesh sooner or later. -explained the impassive voice of Mandos.

Melkor smiled bitterly, and at the same time, with the serenity that had gripped him.

-I think you're crazy, Lórien... The moment in which the light of the two Trees was more beautiful, the number of my wounds, the day ye forgave me... Why do you keep track of such strange things?

-They're important to me.

-Nothing that you say has the slightest sense. Also, I realize one thing: according to your calculations, the day ye forgave me was the one in which I destroyed the two Trees and stole the Silmarils. Why then, precisely when I did you the greatest evil?

-Because it was time.

-Does this mean that the Valar have forgiven me and I can return to Aman when I please and govern them as I always should have done?

-No. Only we have forgiven you, not the rest.

-Mph! I always thought that it would be my stupid brother Manwë who would forgive me first...

-Manwë can’t forgive you. Because he loves you.

Melkor grumbled through clenched teeth.  
The emptiness that Mandos had left inside him now seemed annoying, as if his opening loudly pleaded to be filled again, with an obscene tingling.  
At that moment he remembered that Lórien was not only the Lord of Dreams, but also of Desire. It wouldn’t be strange that his caresses were distilling that ardor through his veins.  
Almost without realizing it, his legs parted like an invitation for a new assault. Lórien’s tongue slid across the lobe of his ear, and with a whisper that moistened the tip of his cock, he said:

-Are you better now, Melkor? Will you let my brother possess you?

Gulping, Melkor nodded.

-Yes, but only if he shows me the respect due to my power, and strokes my sensitive spot with each thrust. If he doesn’t do this, I refuse.

The brothers exchanged perfidious smiles, and Lórien rose to collect one of the red poppies that grew in the glade. From the calyx of the flower he extracted an oil of voluptuous aroma, which he generously smeared over Mandos’ member and the opening of Melkor. The latter let out a sigh; the feeling was exquisite and attenuated all pain and discomfort.  
This time willingly, and no longer caring if what he did was shameful or not, the rebellious Vala offered himself, and felt the member separating his flesh, sinking into him in all its length, and pulling out a gasp of pleasure upon touching that delectable spot.  
Lórien stood watching the mysterious ritual that unfolded before his eyes. A ritual almost as old as the world, in which moans, sweat, tendons and muscles intermingled in a beautiful dance.  
And although his brother didn’t seem quite committed, as if the act was alien to his spiritual nature, the body of Melkor writhed in a mixture of pleasure and anguish that penetrated every pore of his skin. Fascinated, the Lord of Dreams observed the sinewy stem crowned with dew, which rose in the middle of the grove between the legs of the rebellious Vala. Wasn’t that the most beautiful flower that now sprouted in his garden?  
Licking his lips, Lórien lay on the body of Melkor, and took his member in his mouth. A primitive and mysterious energy emanated from his former enemy, an energy that impelled him to do that. Perhaps the same energy that impelled all living beings to perpetuate their species.

Melkor let out an even louder moan and arched his back. Never before had he experienced those pleasures with two persons at once. And the feeling of being penetrated to the core, with his secret area stimulated to climax again and again, now joined to that tongue in his outer parts, was maddening.  
His spirit was stirred, almost wanting to escape that abused flesh, that unbearable intensity. When he opened his eyes, he only saw before him the parts of Lórien, who had been left hanging a few inches from his face in that position. Enraptured by the waves of pleasure coursing through his nerves and by the smell of poppies, he returned the favour to Lórien. And he ran his tongue along the slit of his cock, and along the stem, and between his balls, and finally into his hole.  
The Lord of Dreams moaned in surprise, and for a moment forgot about the work of his own tongue.

-Do you feel it already, brother? –whispered Mandos, and looked at Melkor from above, giving him a knowing smile. Melkor understood the insinuation perfectly, and licking his fingers, he maliciously introduced them into the virgin body of the other Vala.

-Oh! What are you doing to me? -he complained.

-Isn’t it obvious? I bet you can also count the fingers that I'm pushing inside you, right?

-They're three, ah!, now they’re four... I don’t know... Suddenly what was important for me, it’s not so much in this moment. –sighed Lórien, closing his eyes and impaling himself even more into those fingers that desecrated him.

For a while he struggled to be rubbed in the areas of his cavity that gave him more pleasure. Until finally, possessed of an animal fury quite unbecoming of him, he separated, turned around, and fit himself into the swollen member of Melkor, both moaning in unison.  
The twilight that filtered through the trees brought out silver gleams from his hair and pubis as his delicate figure rose and fell along the member; silver interspersed with the black hair of Melkor, the black robe of Mandos, who now enveloped him in a possessive embrace.

-Master of Desire, by Desire mastered. Tell me, what do you feel now? –said the Judge, slightly biting his neck and stroking his member, while he kept brushing the insides of Melkor with exquisite precision.

-I hear a note isolated in the Music ... I see a point of light in the midst of Creation. The eye of Eru looks at me, and for once I understand him entirely. –sighed Lórien, his voice breaking in a whimper.

Melkor didn’t believe he could endure much more. Mandos’ thrusts had already caused him several internal climax that had left his legs shaking. And now the moist and warm canal of Lórien, wrapping and squeezing him among muscle spasms, threatened to bring him to the final burst.  
Then Mandos grabbed his brother by the neck, turned his head to look at him in the eyes, and with one last masterful touch of his hand, he ordered:

-Open up for me, brother. Show me everything. Now! -and kissing him harshly, he left the body of Melkor without warning, and in turn impaled the other Vala.

Lórien cried upon being penetrated so brutally by both of them at the same time. And finally he surrendered his spirit among convulsions, while a white rain twinkled for a moment in the air and then spilled over into the stomach of Melkor. The latter clawed at the ground. Whether it was for the double touch of the cavity and the new member against his, or for the savage act that unfolded before his eyes, or in response to the pleasure of the other Vala, he also spilled his seed with an anguished groan.  
For a moment only faltering sobs and gasps of breath were heard in the glade, enveloped in a cloud of sweetish and pungent odors, of flowers, of fluids, of sweat.  
Very slowly, Lórien separated from Melkor and lay on him, while his brother, still kissing him, absorbed the last throes and contractions of his body.  
Finally released, the Lord of Dreams stayed near the rebellious Vala, and put his arms languidly around his waist. Melkor allowed himself to be embraced without saying a word; he was too exhausted to worry about that.  
Mandos instead stood upon them, still dressed, as cold and stony as in the moment of pronouncing a sentence. Contemplating the two Valar, naked and entwined, he smiled to himself.

-Well, I think my experiment was a success.

Lórien blinked a few times, shaking off the stupor.

-Experiment? You just said you were going to show me something new and curious.

-Oh brother! I must not reveal all my thoughts to anyone. Not even to you. But since you ask me, I will confess this. What I was looking for with this experiment was a very particular knowledge. A knowledge that as lord of the dead escaped me. What is that impulse that animates living beings? That impulse of the flesh that leads them to breed in an endless cycle of new lives? Why that striving to perpetuate bodies that must perish, to send me their naked souls? Without that impulse, my halls would be empty since long time ago. It is the origin of life, but also of death, which is my domain. The beings that don’t need to unite carnally live forever in the perfect copies of themselves. Only those who feel desire can die. Irmo, you are the Lord of Desire and my brother, don’t you see now what brings us together? Thus I longed to know, to know what is that unrestrained passion that leads so many to kill and so many to die. This passion has haunted me since I observed it with my own eyes in the flesh of Melkor, naked and helpless in my prison. That's why I needed him, because he already knew. And I needed you, brother, to channel it through him and show me it in the midst of ecstasy, without mental barriers, because as my brother our minds are open to each other in a way that never will be that of our old enemy.

Lórien raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but his calm face didn’t reveal his emotions.

-And why, dear brother, didn’t you decide to experience such bliss in your own body, which clearly remained undisturbed during the act? Why did you need to feel it through me?

Mandos let out a laugh of steel.  
-I cannot risk being trapped in a carnal envelope. I am the lord of spirits! And this kind of acts are the ones that most bind an Ainu with his physical form.

-But I can run the risk of being trapped?

-You're the younger brother and your powers and functions are less important than mine. –sentenced the Judge, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Lórien squinted, but just smiled and remained silent.  
Melkor was fiddling with his fingers through the silver curls of his pubis, fascinated by its sheen and the softness of his skin.

-Your brother is a manipulative swine! –he groaned.- You should leave him and come with me to Angband. I would grant you the honour of staying tied to my bed so I could enjoy you occasionally. And when my lieutenant returned, both of us would enjoy you at the same time.

-It sounds tempting, but I must stay, thank you.

-I wish they could stick two in my hole! But I have too many aches and injuries. I wish I could escape this miserable shape! Then I could indeed teach a good lesson to your arrogant brother.

-Oh, but you can do it! –laughed Lórien, taking a yellow rose and drawing it close to inhale its aroma.

Both Melkor and Mandos looked stunned at him.

-What do you mean? -said the evil Vala, with sudden interest.

-You know it already, Melkor: this is your dream, and in it you are free of bounds to do whatever you want. No prison of flesh can restrain the imagination of a dreaming mind. You only need to convince you of that. Until now you have not. Try it.

Lórien stared at him tempting, dangerously, and a wicked smile began to take shape on the lips of Melkor. Mandos’ proud expression became one of utter disbelief.

-Irmo, what are you doing!? Now you side with him?

-I don’t understand anything about pacts or allegiances, brother. My nature is irrational. –said Lórien, shrugging.

Meanwhile, oblivious of the discussion of the Fëanturi, Melkor began to concentrate on the mental image that he wanted to express in his body. And he felt how the bonds were broken and the flesh yielded to his wishes, as it had been in earlier times. His figure expanded, grew monstrously, and several limbs broke through his ribs and elongated into respective arms ended in claws. Bones and ligaments disintegrated and reassembled in new nightmarish shapes, and a resounding laughter erupted from the interior of some unknown organs.  
Mandos took a couple of steps back, pale and trembling. Melkor smelled his fear.

-You won’t dare... I... I am Judge, Jury and Executioner. I judge and I am not judged! I punish and I am not punished! –stammered the Vala, in a last attempt to feign an authority that he had lost.- I am Death! I possess them all, but no one can possess me.

Melkor's mouth showed a double row of sharp teeth upon bursting out laughing, and his tongue extended towards Mandos, circling his neck with lubricity.

-Not so arrogant, little Vala. You're not Death; you're just its vile jailer. -he scoffed, and grabbing him by the arms, he threw him down abruptly, while his other two limbs bound his legs and separated them.

Panicked, Mandos made an attempt to leave his physical form, but something was wrong.

-Not in my dream, dear, not in my dream ... - warned the monster, licking his mouth. And one of his claws slid down the collar of his robe.- Do you want to know the secrets of pleasure? You'd better know them in your own flesh then. Though I’m afraid it will be anything but edifying for you. I’ll take care of that myself. Knowledge is a very dangerous thing, Mandos: profitable for a few and the downfall for most.

The tearing of fabric was clearly heard behind the pleas and cries of the prisoner, white marble emerging under black cloth.

-Irmo, aren’t you going to do anything!?Will you let your brother being thus dishonoured!?

But Lórien was toying with his rose.

-Once I saw a spider catching a butterfly just born from its cocoon and devouring it alive. The other butterflies were also being born, and flew indifferently to the flowers. Nature! It’s so cruel ... -he murmured, as self-absorbed.

It was clear that Mandos wouldn’t get help from that quarter. He looked down and found himself naked and vulnerable, crucified between the four clutches of Melkor. The spittle of the monster dripped down his neck whenever he licked his lips.

-Now you will pay for what you did to me, Mandos. And I will also teach you other thing that you haven’t yet known: absolute humiliation.

The claws that held his legs parted further, and Mandos was left obscenely exposed. A viscous and indefinable appendage brushed his private parts and pushed inside his orifice to spread it.  
Mandos gasped, half way between moaning and sobbing. For the first time in the history of Eä, he wasn’t the one in control, he didn’t even have a slight knowledge of what was going to happen. He had been left in darkness, and what was worse and even more shameful, coupled with this loss of control he felt between his legs a discharge of that which they called "pleasure".  
Laughter sent a vibration through the mass that towered over him.

-But how is it, are you getting aroused!? To that point reaches your sadism? Mmm ... Well, this also arouses me...

Mandos almost lost consciousness upon seeing the size of the member which now emerged from a cavity in the crotch of Melkor. And when the wet tip stroked his opening, he had to close his eyes and bite his tongue to avoid screaming.  
During all that time, Lórien entertained himself inhaling the fumes of opium, and the cries and moans of his brother, and the lewd panting of Melkor, only reached to him floating like a dream.

When it was over, Melkor recovered his usual form and straightened his robe with dignity. Mandos, also dressed again, trembled from top to bottom, pale with anger and shame. He threw a murderous look at his brother, and the latter smiled charmingly.

-Well, my role here is finished. -snapped Melkor.- The next time ye want to organize another decadent orgy of these, do not count on me! -and turning around, he walked off the glade.

In that moment, the Vala opened his eyes and found himself back in his bed, among the safe walls of Angband. His initial shock gave way gradually to calm, as he returned to reality.  
Then he felt something wet under the covers. Upon discovering the white, sticky stain, he twisted his mouth disgruntled. It was a natural reaction after a dream of that kind, no matter how stupid it was.  
The truth was that he still felt aroused. He looked wistfully toward the left side of his bed, his huge and desolate bed, where of course the absence of Sauron remained palpable. He felt a stab in his chest, followed by another stab at the inside of his leg. The exhilarating sense of power he had experienced in the dream, free from all limitations, still reverberated in his mind. And being caressed and penetrated again was a nice change from his lonely reality.  
Melkor frowned. Cursed Fëanturi, cursed disgusting dream! He had barely begun the day and he was already in a gloomy mood.

-Gothmog!! -he roared from the bed. Minutes later, the Balrog peered cautiously into the room, and was received with some sheets thrown to his face.- Clean this up!

It didn’t take long for the unfortunate captain to realize what was specifically what he had to clean. Outraged by such disdain toward his position and rank in the fortress, he sought the human servant of Sauron and lumbered him with the thankless task, going away in a cloud of smoke and fury.  
The Shadow of Sauron nearly fainted with disgust, and careful not to touch with his hand or his precious clothes the fluid stain, he gave the sheets to the first orc that passed him by. And the creature felt very honoured to clean the seed of his master and creator.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the other side of the Great Sea, in the gardens of Lórien near the lake Lórellin, Estë the gentle served another cup of tea to her dear friend Vairë. The cheerful spirit and energetic manners of Estë contrasted sharply with the solemn and reserved figure of her friend.  
In addition, Estë loved to talk. Any event, any trivial anecdote was a good excuse for gossiping and gossiping without end. And meanwhile Vairë remained there quietly and without interrupting, listening (or at least pretending she was listening) and limiting herself to occasional nods.  
Maybe that was the reason why Estë was so fond of meeting Vairë.

-What a wonderful idea had our husbands to meet the four of us here, don’t you think, Vairë, dear!? I wish we saw each other more often... Ah, but try the pie, it was made by one of my Maiar! It’s very good, maybe a little too sweet... Well, I know that ye don’t like to eat very much. I like it indeed, it's a great invention. -chattered the Valië, sticking in her mouth another piece of cake.- Although I wonder what are doing our husbands that takes them so long. It’s been quite a while already since they left to stroll into the woods. So unpunctual! And tea is going to be cold. Knowing Irmo, I can imagine what happened. Surely he’s engaged in searching every one of the flowers that grow here to show them to your husband, and incidentally explain to him each property, each virtue of the plants! Do you get the picture, Vairë? My husband collecting flowers and yours picking mushrooms? I can almost see them!

Estë pushed aside a lock of hair from her face with a slap. The heat from the tea, together with the abundant food, her long hair, impatience, and habit of speaking without pausing for breath, were suffocating her.  
Vairë, for her part, rolled up the sleeves of her robe, black as that of her husband, and held out a bony, bloodless hand toward the cup of tea that was offered to her.

-I can see them as well. In fact, I have already the picture for my next tapestry. -the Valië moved the cup closer to her lips, and Estë could have sworn that an icy smile drew on those two thin lines.- Nonetheless, dear, I think that the scene that I will capture in my tapestry is very different from that which you have in your head... _Very different_.


End file.
